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DREAKraST 
TABLL 

cnaT 



By @B 

EPGAR"A.(iVEST. 



DETROIT, MICH. 1914 




•^ A Q S<. M IN/ E R 






Copyright, 1914 

By EDGAR A. GUEST 

Detroit, Mich. 



«01/ -9 1914 



/ 



y'^w^* 



AUTHOR'S NOTE 



Acknowledgment is hereby made of the courtesy of the publishers of 
Judge for permission to reprint in this book the verses "A Boy at Christmas." 

©CI,A388300 



A BOOK of verse is like a child — ■ 
•^^ Its moods and fancies vary; 

At times its ways are meek and mild, 
At other times contrary. 

And like a child, it sometimes shows 
A charm that naught can smother; 

For that, of course, the credit goes 
Entirely to its mother. 

So readers, take my little lad, 
And may he be no bother; 

And when you find that he is bad, 
Just blame it on his father. 



To 

THE DETROIT FREE PRESS 

As a slight expression of gratitude 
this book is dedicated. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Green of Michigan 15 

/A Prayer 16 

Friends 17 

The Painter 18 

The Gentle Hand of Women Folks ... 19 

/ Sticky Fingers 20 

Cornered 21 

., Mary 22 

A Suggestion 23 

The Responsibility of Fatherhood - - - - 24 

Trustful Ma 25 

^ Slumberland Time 26 

Grandma 27 

The Little Country 'Bus ---.-- 28 

The Man Who's Down 29 

, A Breach of Friendship 30 

f 

/Riches 31 

, Down the Lanes of August 32 

y Little Miss Laugh-a-Lot - - - ... - 33 

^.;Song of the Many - 34 

The Ballad of the New Arrival .... 35 

A Coming Reunion 36 

The Right to Joy 37 

Temptation 38 

/ A Preference 39 

y The Evening Prayer 40 

^. When It's Bad to Forget 41 

Mothers' Splendid Dreams 42 

j^ Patriotism 43 

The Change- Worker 44 

Faith 45 

The Boy and the Flag 46 

The Disgrace of Poverty 47 

The Graduation Dress 48 



Page 

Neil Snow 49 

Mother of Five 50 

^ A Scare 51 

The Shattered Dream 52 

A Creed 53 

Christmas Greeting 54 

A New Year's Song 55 

What Ma Said 56 

^Life 57 

^ Worth While 58 

. /The Path o' Little Children 59 

Only a Building 60 

The Limit 61 

The Child World 62 

/ Hubbard and Pelletier 63 

The Vote of Thanks 64 

ifhcSensible Romance of Mildred ... fi^ 

/ A Good World -^'66 

Wisdom's Haunts 67 

Henry Ford's Offhand Way 68 

The Panama Canal 70 

Play the Man 71 

The Naughty Little Fellow 72 

The Jedge of Bowie County 73 

OutFishin' 74 

'"The Toiler 75 

^ Lonely 76 

y Arcady 77 

.,. The Old-Fashioned Parents 78 

A Prayer ---- 79 

'^ He Earned His Way 80 

, The Toy-Strewn Home 81 

Snooping 'Round 82 

^Life 83 

.,. Fixing the Shame 84 

Service 85 

Off to School - 86 

Human Failings 87 

His Rattle He Throws on the Floor ... 88 



Page 

Sacrifices 89 

-Tuckered Out 90 

Memories of Tomorrow 91 

. Tinkerin' at Home 92 

yNot Crossing Bridges 93 

Little Marie 94 

^^ Father's Chore 95 

. Real Lessons 96 

One-Sided Faith 97 

The Thumbed Collar 98 

Fame - - - - 99 

^Envy 100 

Memorial Day 101 

Warning the Carpenter 102 

'a Song 103 

^ The First Rule of Golf 104 

'Erbert's H'opinion 105 

... The Fun of Forgiving 106 

A Choice 107 

, The Value of a Telephone 108 

The Sympathetic Minister 110 

^Hope Ill 

Friends 112 

Welcoming the New Year 113 

When Mother Made Angel Cake - - - - 114 

^War 115 

A Boy at Christmas 116 

The Change 117 

The Road Builder 118 

The March o' Man 119 

' The Lanes of Apple Bloom 120 

', The Little Chap - - 121 

My Proud Pa 122 

The Women of the Sailors 123 

Neglected 124 

The Departed 125 

^A Greeting 126 

Service 127 

• Not a Money Debt 127 



Page 

>*' Out at Pelletier's 128 

He Struck Me! 129- 

^ Creed 130 

. A Friend's Greeting 131 

The Lost Purse 132 

/•The Monument of Kindness 133 

Old-Fashioned Folks 134 

Strange 135 

Queer Ebenezer 136 

y. A Song 137 

A Discussion 138 

A Prayer 138 

Living Monuments 139 

The Joy of Getting Back 140 

Punishment 141 

Jes' Wonderin' - 142 

.Tell Him Why 143 

Ma an' Me 144 

Lines to the Wash Woman 145 

Answering Age 146 

Contentment 147 

It Couldn't Be Done 148 

Money 149 

A Greeting 149 

A Personal View of War 150 

^Troubles 151 

At the Wedding 152 

'^ The Time for Brotherhood 153 

. Answering the Grumblers 154 

Now and Then 155 

Happiness 156 

Real Help 157 

Home 158 

A Creed 159 

History Teaches 159 

J Capital Punishment 160 

He Has Not Lived in Vain 161 

A Pat on the Back 162 

y King - 163 



Page 

Lonely - - - 164 

/Dreading 165 

A Real Thriller 166 

/ George Moir Black 167 

'.^ Glad 168 

Different 169 

^'Contrary Sary 170 

^ I'll Never Be Rich 171 

For the Living 172 

^ The Lonely Fight 173 

Answering the Usual Questions 174 

If Those Who Love Us 175 

The Simple Toilers 175 

Friendship 176 

The Cure 177 

he Baby's Feet 178 

A Lullaby 179 

The Brave Men 180 

Little Fellow 181 

/The Lilacs 182 

Success 183 

Pa Discusses Economy 184 

^ After All Is Said and Done 185 

.'• The Home-Wrecker 186 

A Father's Thought 187 

If You and I 188 

/ The Birth of Love 189 

^Copy Paper 190 

, At the Millennium 191 



BREAKFAST TABLE CHAT 



/ 



The Green of Michigan 

X'VE seen the Rockies in the west, 
I've seen the canyons wild and grim, 
I've seen the prairies golden dressed, 
And California's hedges prim. 
I've seen the Kansas corn fields blow, 

I've seen them wearing summer's tan; 
But there's no place on earth can show 
Such glorious green as Michigan. 

I've seen the blue of foreign skies, 

I've seen old England's shady lanes, 
The famous spots men advertise, 

The mountains and the rolHng plains; 
But wearily my eyes have turned 

From scenes that others gayly scan. 
And secretly my soul has yearned 

To see the green of Michigan. 

I've traveled in a Pullman car 

And watched the landscape slipping by, 
But always though I've wandered far 

To fairer charms my mind would fly; 
And when at last the moving scenes 

Seem painted by some Master Man 
With all the cool and restful greens, 

I know I'm back in Michigan. 

Here Mother Nature never tires 

And droops her head upon her breast; 
Beneath the scorching summer fires 

She keeps her youth and looks her best. 
When other states have lost the hue 

They had when first the spring began, 
'Tis like refreshing drink to view 

The splendid green of Michigan. 



15 



Go search for charms on foreign shores, 

Enthuse of wonders, as you roam, 
I choose the splendors at our doors, 

I sing the rich deUghts of home. 
The trees in garb of glory dressed. 

The fertile fields that round us span; 
I sing the charm that thrills me best, 

The glorious green of Michigan ! 



H 



A Prayer 

ORD, give me strength for my burdens today. 
Let me bear what is mine unafraid, 
Let me stand, head erect and face front to 
the fray 
Nor call to my brothers for aid. 



I ask not for easier pathways to tread / 

Nor easier burdens to bear, 
But I pray for the courage to journey ahead. 

And alone I would conquer my care. 

Lord, make me strong for the tasks of today, 
Let me master them all if I can, 

And if I must falter and fall by the way 
I pray I may fall as a man. 



16 



Friends 

CHE sunshine and blue skies are fine, 
I'm thankful for the flowers, 
For they are truly gifts divine 
To cheer this world of ours. 
But flowers droop and skies turn gray 

And oft the sunshine ends; 
God's greatest blessings, so I say, 
Are friends. 

The river gently flowing by, 

The rolling meadows green, 
The mountains towering to the sky, 

The valleys in between 
Are all a part of God's great scheme 

On which our joy depends; 
But greatest of them all, I deem 

Our friends. 

When sorrow comes and grief is mine. 

And hope is lost in gloom, 
'Tis then that friendship comes to shine 

Within my darkened room. 
'Tis then that consolation sweet 

My bitter woe attends, 
For God has made this world complete 

With friends. 

Good friends! God's greatest gift to man. 

That's how they seem to me. 
The keystone of His wondrous plan 

To cheer humanity. 
Out of His mercy infinite 

I hold the best he sends 
To fill this world with love and light — • 

Are friends. 



17 



The Painter 

^f^HEN my hair is thin and silvered, an' my time 

ri 1 of toil is through, 

^^^ When I've many years behind me, an' ahead 

of me a few, 
I shall want to sit, I reckon, sort of dreamin' in the sun, 
An' recall the roads I've traveled an' the many things 

I've done, 
An' I hope there'll be no picture that I'll hate to look 

upon 
When the time to paint it better or to wipe it out is 

gone. 

I hope there'll be no vision of a hasty word I've said. 
That has left a trail of sorrow, like a whip welt, sore 

an' red. 
An' I hope my old-age dreamin' will bring back no 

bitter scene 
Of a time when I was selfish an' a time when I was 

mean; 
When I'm gettin' old an' feeble, an' I'm far along 

life's way 
I don't want to sit regrettin' any by-gone yesterday. 

I'll admit the children boss me, I'll admit I often smile 
When I ought to frown upon 'em, but for such a little 

while 
They are naughty, romping youngsters, that I have 

no heart to scold. 
An' I know if I should whip 'em I'd regret it when 

I'm old. 
Age to me would be a torment an' a ghost-infested 

night, 
If I'd ever hurt a baby, an' I could not make it right. 

I am painting now the pictures that I'll some day 

want to see, 
I am filling in a canvas that will come back soon to me. 



18 



An* though nothing great is on it, an' though nothing 

there is fine, 
I shall want to look it over when I'm old an' call it 

mine. 
An' I do not dare to leave it, while the paint isw arm 

an' wet. 
With a single thing upon it that I'll later on regret. 



The Gentle Hand of Women Folks 

^^^HE gentle hand of women folks 
^ J Keeps this old world in line. 
It smooths away our bits of care 

And makes the struggle fine. 
It turns to blue our skies of gray, 

It makes our burdens lighter, 
And when we feel its soft caress 

Life's gloomy spots grow brighter. 

The gentle hand of women folks, 

Of sister, wife or mother, 
Is what makes honest, sturdy men 

Of husband, son or brother. 
It keeps man fighting to be good, 

It cheers him up in sorrow. 
It gives him courage to await 

The fortunes of tomorrow. 

The gentle hand of women folks, 

To kindness ever turning, 
Soothing with patient tenderness 

The brow with fever burning. 
Man's best reward for all the strife. 

His richest worldly blessing, 
The gentle hand of women folks, 

Akin to God's caressing. 



19 




Sticky Fingers 

[IFE says that I should be ashamed 
To wear such garments as I do, 
Full many a time has she exclaimed : 
**A month ago that suit was new, 
Now look at all the dreadful stains 

That mar the coat and spoil the vest; 
It seems to me if you'd take pains 

Your clothing wouldn't get so messed." 

But I am proud of all those stains, 

I do not care for garments clean, 
For every shining mark explains 

Where sticky little hands have been; 
Each smudge is but a symbol of 

A roguish youngster's fond caress, 
A badge of trusting, constant love, 

A token of real happiness. 

I may be careless in my way, 

Perhaps my clothes are a disgrace. 
But when that baby comes to play 

And holds me in her fond embrace 
I love her sticky fingers more 

Than any tailored suit of mine. 
And she may thumb my garments o'er, 

For every spot she leaves is fine. 

I wish no spotless coat and vest. 

If baby hands I have to check; 
It matters not how I am dressed, 

I want her arms about my neck. 
Yes, finger-marked my clothes may be. 

But they are marks I'm proudest of, 
Let sticky fingers come to me 

And stamp me with their seals of love. 



20 



Cornered 

XKNEW it was comin', I'd watched fer a year 
Without sayin' a word to a soul excep' Ma 
Of the sweet sort o' things that were happenin' 
here, 
An,' "You orter feel mighty glad of it. Pa!" 
Was all that she said. But I didn't somehow, 
I'd a feelin' that only old men understand, 
I knew it was comin'. And it's happened now! 
An' I answered yes, when he ast fer her hand. 

I dodged him six weeks, now it's done, I confess. 

I contrived it so's he'd never get me alone, 
I knew all the time that he wanted our Bess, 

An' that he was eager to make his wants known. 
But he got me last night, passed me out a see-gar 

An' while he was talkin' I looked at the band, 
I knew in my heart that he wouldn't get far 

Afore he'd get courage an' ask fer her hand. 

An' I shook like a man with the ague, I guess, 

Like a fellow must feel when they've doomed him 
to die, 
An' I didn't look up when I answered him yes, 

I was almost ashamed of the tears in each eye. 
He's honest and clean, he's a man through and through 

An' as soon as I got my old heart in command, 
I said: ''Since it must be, I am glad it is you, 

I give you my best when I give you her hand." 

I knew it was comin'. For months I could see 

It was love that was lightin' those young people's 
eyes, 
And so when he finally did corner me 

I know what he said wasn't any surprise. 
Now Ma's kissin' 'em both, then she'll come out and 
cry, 
An' tomorrow she'll tell me it's perfectly grand; 
Oh, happy young man, mebbe some day you'll sigh 
When you're asked to part with your little one's 
hand. 



21 



Mary 

•i^fHE was gentle, she was true, 

^Kjl And her tender eyes of blue 

^^■^ Seemed to mock the morning sunbeams 

And the starlight of the night; 

And her laughter seemed to trill 

Like the ripple of the rill, 

And there never was a trouble 

That she didn't make all right. 

What though rough had been my way, 
And the bitter hours of day 
Had depressed my coward spirit 
Till it only saw the gloom. 
She could lift me from the strife 
And bring back the joy of life. 
For her smiling presence brightened 
And made radiant the room. 

Oh, so simple were her ways. 
Oh, so merry were the days 
That we trod life's lane together 
Hand in hand, like children gay; 
But my troubles seem to be 
Mountain high today to me 
For there are no happy evenings 
When we laugh them all away. 

Now the sunbeams dance and smile, 
But I'm looking all the while 
For the soft blue eyes of Mary 
Who has passed beyond the night ; 
But I bravely tread my way 
For I know there'll come a day 
When she'll laugh away my sorrows 
And make all my burdens light. 



22 



A Suggestion 

XF you've grumbled through the day 
Without driving care away, 
If in spite of all your grouches 
Troubles on you have kept piling; 
If regardless of your kicking 
And your cussing, they're still sticking, 
Why not switch your tactics, mister. 
And try smiling? 

If your frowning will not chase 'em, 
Why not grin a bit, and face 'em? 
If your worries seem to like it 
When your meanness they are riling; 
If your gloomy disposition 
Doesn't better your condition, 
Why not switch your methods, mister. 
And try smiling? 

If your constant whining, swearing, 
Do not better your wayfaring ; 
If you find your foes no kinder 
After them you've been reviling; 
If they keep right on assailing, 
Quite regardless of your wailing. 
Why not switch your style of warfare 
And try smiling? 



23 



The Responsibility of Fatherhood 



©' 



iEFORE you came, my little lad, 
I used to think that I was good, 
Some vicious habits, too, I had, 
But wouldn't change them if I could. 
I held my head up high and said: 

"I'm all that I have need to be, 
It matters not what path I tread," 
But that was ere you came to me. 

I treated lightly sacred things. 

And went my way in search of fun. 
Upon myself I kept no strings, 

And gave no heed to folly done. 
I gave myself up to the fight 

For worldly wealth and earthly fame. 
And sought advantage, wrong or right, 

But that was long before you came. 

But now you sit across from me. 

Your big brown eyes are opened wide. 
And every deed I do you see. 

And, O, I dare not step aside. 
I've shaken loose from habits bad, 

And what is wrong I've come to dread. 
Because I know, my little lad. 

That you will follow where I tread. 

I want those eyes to glow with pride. 

In me I want those eyes to see 
The while we wander side by side 

The sort of man I'd have you be. 
And so I'm striving to be good 

With all my might, that you may know 
When this great world is understood, 

What pleasures are worth while below. 



24 



I see life in a different light 

From what I did before you came, 
Then anything that pleased seemed right ; 

But you are here to bear my name, 
And you are looking up to me 

With those big eyes from day to day, 
And I'm determined not to be 

The means of leading you astray. 



CD 



Trustful Ma 

[A has every confidence in Pa, 

She says she knows he always does what's 
right, 
He's not at all like some folks' husbands are, 

Whose conduct very often is a fright. 
She says that she can trust him anywhere 

An' know he'd never think of doing wrong, 
But when he meets a widow, young an' fair. 
Ma never leaves them chatting very long. 

Ma never has a single doubt of Pa, 

An' she is very thankful, too, for that; 
She says she knows he'd never go too far. 

Besides, he's growing old an' bald an' fat. 
But just the same when we have friends for tea, 

An' Ma has shown 'em where their places are, 
Although she trusts him most implicitly 

She never puts the pretty girls by Pa. 



25 



Slumberland Time 

XT is Slumberland time, and the storms have 
passed by, 
And the sea is now golden and still, 
And the big yellow moon has come up in the sky. 

And the Sandman is home from the hill. 
The fairy boat waits for my baby to start 
For the wonderful harbor of dreams, 
Where there's never a care for the dear little heart 
And the world is as bright as it seems. 

It is Slumberland time, and the sighing is done. 

The hurts of the day are all well. 
The wee childish troubles all passed with the sun. 

Now the Sandman is ringing his bell. 
The big yellow moon lights the way with his beams 

To the land where my baby shall go. 
Where the night time's a round of most wonderful 
dreams 

And there's never a sorrow to know. 

It is Slumberland time, and the tears are all dried, 

And the dream ship is putting to sea, 
My baby must sail o'er the rest-ocean wide 

Till the morn brings her safely to me. 
Toss gently, O Slumberland breezes, her curls. 

Be kind to her, fairies, I pray, 
Let never a sad dream be my little girl's 

Till the sunbeams shall call her to play. 



26 



Grandma 

^^!:^HERE'S a twinkle in her eye, 

fj O, so merry! O, so sly! 

^^^ That you never see the wrinkles in her face ; 

She's so full of fun and play 

That you never see the gray 

In her tresses, and you never see a trace 

Of the feebleness of years, 

Born of heartaches and of tears; 

She's the youngest of the children still today. 

All the charm of youth remains, 

All her beauty she retains. 

O, she's right up to the minute in her way. 

Just because she's seventy-two 

Any old thing will not do, 

She believes that she must always look her best; 

Though her gowns are mostly black. 

She was never known to lack 

A little dash of color at her breast. 
"Just because I'm old," says she, 
**Do not think I'm going to be 

Out of style and frumpy looking, for I'm not! 

And when folks come in to call, 

I'm not going to wear a shawl 

And cover up the splendid things I've got.'* 

O, dear grandma, let me say. 

As I look at you today. 

In your stylish gown of satin with its little touch of 

blue; 
As I see your merry eye. 
When the years have wandered by 
May I only be as happy and as lovable as you. 
May I come from out the gloom 
Of my troubles with the bloom 
Of a heart that's ever youthful still in view, 
With a dash of color gay 
To relieve the somber gray. 
May I be as young as you at seventy-two. 



27 



The Little Country Bus , 

©HERE'S no lock upon your door, 
And the polish that you wore 
In the years ago when you were bright 
and new 
Now has lost its splendid shine, 
And your driver's bending spine 
Shows that he's been getting old along with you. 
You are slipping fast, I see; 
So indeed, old bus, is he; 
But you rattle and you bang along the street. 
And I wonder as you go 
What of joy or what of woe 
You'll discover when the limited you meet. 

Who is coming home once more 

To his father's welcome door? 

Is it failure or success that he will bring? 

Is a daughter slipping back 

From the city's cruel track 

For the lullaby that mother used to sing? 

Is she happy? Is she sad? 

For I know, old bus, you've had 

Both your passengers a thousand times or more; 

And old driver, you can't hide 

Just how many times you've sighed 

As you've opened or have shut that shaky door. 

You have seen them go away. 

Full of strength and hope and gay, 

You have seen them start as children fine — and 

then — 
When the limited you've met, 
Both your kindly eyes were wet 
As you saw them back as women and as men. 
You have read the tale of life. 
Read the heartache and the strife. 
Read the sorrows that we'd better not discuss, 
Read the joy of splendid things 
And the pain that failure brings. 
As you've carried all that's human in your bus. 

28 



So I wonder as you go 
What you'll find of joy or woe 
When the limited pulls in on time today; 
What of conquest or defeat 
^Will it be your lot to meet 
And to welcome in your gentle, kindly way. 
Both your shaky bus and you 
With life's toil are nearly through, 
Soon your soul upon a journey far will roam; 
And I like to think you'll ask 
God to let it be your task 
To welcome all the children coming home. 



The Man Who's Down 

XT is well enough to cheer for the brother who 
is up, 
It is fine to praise the brother who has cap- 
tured victory's cup; 
But don't keep your kind words always for the man 

who's won renown, 
For the boy who really needs them is the fellow who is 
down. 

Give a cheer when men deserve it, shout your praise 

for them to hear. 
Don't reserve your admiration till a man is on his bier, 
But remember as you wander every day about the 

town 
That a kind word will work wonders for the brother 

who is down. 

For the man on top is happy, and he has a thousand 

friends, 
He can always get a kind word, no matter where he 

wends. 
But the brother who is striving to attain a laurel crown 
Often needs a friend to help him. Don't neglect the 

brother down. 



29 



■G 



A Breach of Friendship 

IS friendship's test to guard the name 
Of him you love from all attack, 
As you are to his face, the same 
To be when you're behind his back. 



Now good old loyal Jimmy Green, 
A traitor to you have I been; 
As false as Arnold to my trust, 
Your name I've trampled in the dust. 
Last night I lingered out till two. 
And said that I had been with you, 
And then straightway my wife began 
To prove to me that you're no man. 
"What, out again," said she, "with Green! 
No decent man with him is seen ! 
No man who valued much his home 
With him would ever care to roam. 
But for the children, long ago 
His own wife would have quit, I know; 
His only friends are loafers, who 
Don't care what vicious things they do; 
He'd steal, he'd lie, he's insincere." 
And all I said was: "Yes, my dear." 

"Who else was with you, tell me pray? 

Come, answer me, and right away!" 

And then I muttered, "Freddie Brown," 

And promptly turned poor Freddie dov/n. 
"What, Brown," she screamed, "that low-down thing 

Who all his life has had his fling! 

That selfish brute who doesn't care 

What shabby clothes his wife must wear 

So long as he can spend his pay 

And turn the night hours into day! 

I'd never go about the town 

And tell that I had been with Brown; 

I've always said his hang-dog look 

Betrayed the fact that he's a crook. 

And you with him! Of all men, you! 

I wonder now what next you'll do? 

30 



You know Fred Brown's a man to fear.' 
And all I said was: ''Yes, my dear." 

''Who else was with you all this night?" 
She asked, and I said, "Billy White." 
And Billy White was next to fall 
Before her rhetoric in the hall. 
I don't remember now just what 
She said of Bill, but 'twas a lot. 
Perhaps I should have argued back. 
And spared my friends from her attack. 
Perhaps I should have pointed out 
That they are men beyond all doubt, 
Men who have won their share of fame, 
That each one bears an honored name. 
Perhaps I should have argued there 
And proved her charges most unfair; 
But it was two, as I have said, 
And I was tired and wished for bed; 
So by the short route chose to steer. 
And all I said was: "Yes, my dear." 



Riches 

IF I can leave behind me here and there 
A friend or two to say when I am gone 
That I had helped to make their pathways fair. 
Had brought them smiles when they were bowed with 
care, 
The riches of this world I'll carry on. 

If only three or four shall pause to say, 

When I have passed beyond this earthly sphere, 
That I brought gladness to them on a day 
When bitterness was their's, I'll take away 

More riches than a billionaire leaves here. 



31 



Down the Lanes of August 

OOWN the lanes of August — and the bees upon 
the wing, 
All the world's in color now, and all the 
song birds sing; 
Never reds will redder be, more golden be the gold, 
Down the lanes of August, and the summer getting 
old. 

Mother Nature's brushes now with paints are dripping 

wet. 
Gorgeous is her canvas with the tints we can't forget ; 
Here's a yellow wheat field — purple asters there. 
Riotous the colors that she's splashing everywhere. 

Red the cheeks of apples and pink the peaches' bloom. 
Redolent the breezes with the sweetness of perfume ; 
Everything is beauty crowned by skies of clearest 

blue, 
Mother Earth is at her best once more for me and 

you. 

Down the lanes of August with her blossoms at our 

feet. 
Rich with gold and scarlet, dripping wet with honey 

sweet. 
Rich or poor, no matter, here are splendors spread 
Down the lanes of August, for all who wish to tread. 



32 



Little Miss Laugh-a-Lot 

HITTLE Miss Laugh-a-Lot, 
Saucy the way you've ^ot, 
Dancing with glee are the bright eyes of 
you; 
Lips like the red, red rose, 
Cunning, your litt^le nose. 

Cheeks like the summer peach sparkling with dew; 
Mischievous romping tot. 
Little Miss Laugh-a-Lot, 

Over this heart of mine you've worked a spell, 
You've got me, heart and soul, 
Under your sly control, 
In that glad smile of yours all my joys dwell. 

Little Miss Laugh-a-Lot, 

Merry the way you've got, 

What you say goes with your battered old dad. 

Kings, in their pompous way. 

Hold no such magic sway 

Over their subjects, as you've always had; 

Your word is law with me. 

Your throne, you've made my knee. 

Empress, you rule me by night and by day. 

By you I'm always swayed. 

Your commands I've obeyed, 

Always I'm ready when you bid me play. 

Little Miss Laugh-a-Lot, 

Roguish the ways you've got. 

Sly are the tricks that you play on your dad, 

Wheedling and coaxing him. 

Fooling and hoaxing him, 

Forcing this grizzly old bear to be glad. 

Life holds no sweeter bliss 

Than your caress and kiss, 

Earth has no beauty so rare as your smile. 

While I have you to love. 

You to be servant of, 

Nothing else matters, this world is worth while. 



33 




Song of the Many 

'HIS is the song of the many 

Who seldom are mentioned in praise, 
The glorious millions of toilers 

Who splendidly live out their days. 
The millions unlured by great riches, 

Uneager for fame or applause, 
Not seeking for history's niches, 

Forever upholding a cause; 
The many who bravely are bearing 

The duties of life, as they plod. 
Contentedly, gayly wayfaring 

With faith in their country and God. 

The millions, unnoticed, unheeded. 

Who cheerfully tramp to and fro; 
Always found at their posts when they're needed. 

Not seeking for glamour or show. 
Good fathers, devoted and tender, 

And rightfully proud of their young. 
Yes, these are the men that engender 

The spirit that ought to be sung. 
Men who live for the dear ones who love them, 

Their happiness being their goal. 
Yes, these, though we hear little of them. 

Are the men that we ought to extol. 

But few in the world attain glory. 

But few ever sink in disgrace. 
Compared to the ones who grow hoary 

In quietly filling a place. 
In unselfishly, splendidly living. 

And honestly facing life's test; 
The many who daily are giving 

The world every bit of their best. 
Yes, these are the men I would sing to. 

The many who cheerfully plod 
O'er life's highway, contented to cling to 

Their faith in their country and God. 



34 



The Ballad of the New Arrival 

XT isn't the blue in the skies, 
Nor the song of the whispering trees, 
The Hght in a fair maiden's eyes, 
My joy is far greater than these; 
You will pardon my arrogance please, 

And forgive the wide bulge in my brow, 
My hand I'll permit you to seize, 

There's another to welcome me now. 

Naught to me are political cries. 

Or Teddy's or Taft's policies; 
The charges of fraud or of lies, 

Or Wilson's big stock of degrees. 
Pinning blankets, long dresses, boot-ees 

This morning are all I allow 
In my thoughts, both at work and at ease, 

There's another to welcome me now. 

With a smile on my face I arise. 

And beg for permission to squeeze 
The wee little hand that I prize. 

And I wonder if daddy he sees. 
The world with its mountains and seas 

Is a mighty big place, but I vow. 
The whole world is here at my knees. 

There's another to welcome me now. 

Prince, at your pleasures I sneeze. 

You to riches and glory may bow. 

But my joy is greater than these, 

There's another to welcome me now. 



35 



A Coming Reunion 

^ — J'IM'S made good in the world out there, an' Kate 

S I has a man that's true, 

^^"^ No better, of course, than she deserves; she's 

rich, but she's happy, too; 
Fred is manager, full-fledged now — he's boss of a big 

concern 
An' I lose my breath when I think sometimes of the 

money that he can earn; 
Clever — the word don't mean enough to tell what they 

really are, 
Clever, an' honest an' good an' kind — if you doubt me, 

ask their Ma. 

Proud of 'em! Well, I should say we are, an' we have 

a right to be. 
Some are proud to have one child, an' I am proud of 

three ! 
That's all the honor a fellow needs, why Ma an* I often 

say 
There isn't a king or a queen on earth as proud as we 

are today; 
Three babies off in the world out there, all honest an' 

kind an' true. 
That's something to brag of when you are old an' your 

journey is almost through. 

We've stretched the table out a bit, the way that it 

used to be. 
When we were younger — an' here's Ma's chair, an' 

there is a place for me; 
An' there's a chair for our little Kate an' one for the 

man she wed, 
An' yonder, just to the left *of Ma, is a place for our 

baby Fred, 
An' Jim, the eldest, will sit by me — they're comin* 

Thanksgiving day 
To sit once more where they used to sit before they 

went away. 



36 



They ain't ashamed of the old, old place, an' they 

ain't ashamed of me, 
An' they're just as proud of their dear old Ma as ever 

they used to be; 
They've got rich friends in the city now, an' there's 

nothing that's fine they lack, 
But their hearts still stay with us here at home, and 

they joy in the comin' back. 
So we've stretched the table out a bit to the length 

that it was when they 
Were youngsters here in the home with us. They're 

comin' Thanksgiving day. 



The Right to Joy 

XDO not ask for roses all the time, 
For blue skies bending o'er me every day, 
I do not ask for easy hills to climb, 
And always for my feet a pleasant way. 
In laughter I would not spend all my Ufe, 

And miss the joy of sweet and sacred pain ; 
I want to know Hfe's burden and its strife, 

And feel upon my cheek the splash of rain. 

I merely pray for strength enough to bear 

My burdens, and to tread the rugged way; 
To keep the right, howe'er beset with care, 

To stand, unflinching, face front, to the fray. 
And I would claim life's roses for my own. 

But I would win my right to know their sweet; 
To level paths I'd march my way alone. 

For victory I'd venture with defeat. 



37 



Temptation 

«"*Tr-^ WOULD like to wed j^our daughter," said the 
I multi-millionaire, 

'^"^^ ''I will try to make her happy; if I don't you 

needn't care; 
She shall have five million dollars just the minute 

we are married; 
Say the word and I will take her" — but the maiden's 
father tarried. 

"Every luxury I'll give her, she shall dress in finest 

raiment 
And the moment we are married I shall make the 

wedding payment; 
She'll be worth five million dollars when the wedding 

vows are said, 
Will you say that it's a bargain?" — but the father 

hung his head. 

*'It is true I'm almost fifty and your daughter's scarce 

eighteen. 
But she'll live a life of splendor, she shall be a social 

queen ; 
She shall dine with kings and princes and by royalty 

be favored, 
And she'll have five million dollars" — here the 

tempted father wavered. 

Oh! I would that I could write it, that before the 

father's eyes 
Came the picture of the baby that he'd learned to 

idolize ; 
Came his little girl at evening for a romp upor* his 

knee, 
Came the little roguish lassie of the days that used 

to be. 

Had there come that very moment when he saw the 

rich man's check 
Just a vision of his baby with her arms about his 

neck; 

38 



Had his eyes turned back one minute to the days of 

long ago, 
Then he never would have wavered — he'd have fairly 

shouted: "No." 



A Preference 

X'D rather be considered dull 
Than use my brain denouncing things; 
I'd rather not be critical 

And utter words that carry stings. 
I'd rather never speak at all 

Than speak as one who seems to feel 
That other's faults, howe'er so small, 
It proves him clever to reveal. 

I have no wish to pose on earth 

As born to judge my fellow men; 
I'd rather praise them for their worth; 

If failures, bid them try again. 
If faulty effort I behold, 

In silence, let me pass it by, 
If I must leave it unextolled. 

At least the toiler shall not sigh. 

No reputation would I gain 

For wisdom, if in gaining it 
I cause some humble worker pain 

And wound him by my flash of wit. 
There is no cleverness in sneers, 

A fool can scoff in manner pert ; 
Great wisdom by this test appears 

In never saying things that hurt. 



39 



The Evening Prayer 

HITTLE girlie, kneeling there, 
Speaking low your evening prayer, 
In your cunning little nightie 
With your pink toes peeping through; 
With your eyes closed and your hands 
Tightly clasped, while daddy stands 
In the doorway, just to hear the 
"God bless papa," lisped by you. 
You don't know just what I feel. 
As I watch you nightly kneel 
By your trundle bed and whisper 
Soft and low your little prayer ! 
But in all I do or plan, 
I'm a bigger, better man 
Every time I hear you asking 
God to make my journey fair. 

Little girlie, kneeling there, 

Lisping low your evening prayer, 

Asking God above to bless me. 

At the closing of each day; 

Oft the tears come to my eyes, 

And I feel a big lump rise 

In my throat, that I can't swallow, 

And I sometimes turn away. 

In the morning, when I wake. 

And my post of duty take, 

I go forth with new-born courage 

To accomplish what is fair; 

And throughout the live-long day, 

I am striving every way 

To come back to you each evening 

And be worthy of your prayer. 



40 




When It's Bad to Forget 

JU you ever meet a brother as you hurried on 
your way 
And invite him up to dinner, and his wife; 
Did you ever keep him standing until he had named 
the day 
When you'd meet to talk about your early life? 
Did you ever say: '*Next Tuesday we'll expect you 
up to dine," 
And repeat it so he'd have no cause to doubt it? 
Did you ever make him promise to come up and taste 
your wine. 
And then forget to tell your wife about it? 

Did you ever get home feeling just as happy as a bird, 

Kiss your smiling wife and settle down to tea, 
And then get a sinking feeling in your insides as you 
heard 
The door bell ring? This has occurred to me. 
Has a single pork chop lying on a cold and greasy dish 

Ever furiously set your heart to drumming. 
As your guests arrived that evening in obedience to 
your wish, 
And you hadn't told your wife that they were 
coming? 

Oh, I do not care for riches, and I do not sigh for fame, 

And I do not yearn for glory or for power. 
And I don't care if I never learn to win a billiard game 

At the present rate of 40 cents an hour. 
With my lot I'd be contented, and I know I'd happy 
be 

And I'd go my way a bit of music humming. 
If I only could remember when I ask folks up for tea 

To inform my darling wife that they are coming. 



41 




Mothers' Splendid Dreams 

[OTHERS dream such splendid dreams when 
their little babies smile, 
Dreams of wondrous deeds they'll do in 
the happy after-while; 
Every mother of a boy knows that in her arms is curled 
One who some day will arise splendidly to serve the 
world. 

Mothers sing their babes to sleep, weaving through 
their lullabies 

Visions of true-hearted men when their sons to man- 
hood rise; 

Greatness slumbers in the cot that each mother guards 
with care, 

And the world she knows will be better for her baby 
fair. 

Mothers dream such splendid dreams of the men that 

are to be 
In the years that are to come glorious are the things 

they see; 
None so poor and none so frail but looks yonder down 

life's lane 
And sees there the splendid hights that her baby 

will attain. 

Mothers dream such splendid dreams, that no matter 

what we do 
We can never hope to make half their visionings come 

true ; 
Always, as they look ahead, down the lane of life 

they see 
Greater men than yet have been in the men that are 

to be. 



42 



Patriotism 

X THINK my country needs my vote, 
I know it doesn't need my throat, 
My lungs and larynx, too; 
And so I sit at home at night 
And teach my children v/hat is right 

And wise for them to do; 
And v/hen I'm on the job by day 
I do my best to earn my pay. 

The arguments may rage and roar, 
I grease the hinges on my door 

And paint the porches blue; 
I love this splendid land of ours, 
And so I plant the seeds and flowers 

And watch them bursting through. 
I never stand upon a box 
To say we're headed for the rocks. 

My notion of a patriot 

Is one who guards his little cot, 

And keeps it up to date; 
Who pays his taxes when they're due, 
And pays his bills for groc'ries, too, 

And dresses well his mate; 
He keeps his children warmly clad 
And lets them know they have a dad. 

The nation's safe as long as men 
Get to their work and back again 

Each day with cheerful smile; 
So long as there are fathers who 
Rejoice in what they have to do 

And find their homes worth while, 
The Stars and Stripes will wave on high 
And liberty will never die. 



43 




The Change-Worker 

FELLER don't start in t' think of himself an' 
the part that he's playin' down here 
When there's nobody lookin' t' him fer sup- 
port, an' he don't give a thought t' next year. 
His faults don't seem big an' his habits not worse than 

a whole lot of others he knows, 
An' he don't seem t' care what his neighbors may 

think as heedlessly forward he goes. 
He don't start t' think if it's wrong or it's right, with 

his speech he is careless or glib 
Till the minute the nurse lets him into the room t' see 
what's asleep in the crib. 

An' then as he looks at that bundle o' red, at the wee 

little fingers an' toes 
An' he knows it's his flesh an' his bone that is there, an' 

will be just like him when it grows. 
It comes in a flash t' a feller right then, there is more 

here than pleasure or pelf. 
An' the sort of a man his baby will be is the sort of a 

man he's himself. 
Then he kisses the mother an' kisses the child, an' goes 

out determined that he 
Will endeavor t' be just the sort of a man that he 

wants his baby t' be. 

A feller don't think that it matters so much what he 
does till a baby arrives, 

He sows his wild oats an' he has his gay fling an' head- 
long in pleasure he dives; 

An* a drink more or less doesn't matter much then, for 
life is a comedy gay. 

But the moment a crib is put up in the home an' a 
baby has come there t' stay 

He thinks of the things he has done in the past, an' it 
strikes him as hard as a blow. 

That the path he has trod in the past is a path that he 
don't want his baby t' go. 



44 



I ain't much t' preach, an' I can't just express in the 

way that your clever men can 
The thoughts that I think, but it seems t' me now that 

when God wants t' rescue a man 
From himself an' the follies that harmless appear, but 

which, under the surface, are grim, 
He summons the angel of infancy sweet, an' sends 

down a baby t' him. 
For in that way He opens his eyes t' himself, and He 

gives him the vision t' see 
That his duty's t' be just the sort of a man that he's 

wantin' his baby t' be. 




Faith 

'OD never yet has sent a care 
Too great for mortal man to bear, 
Nor from the cradle to the tomb 
Kept wanderers in perpetual gloom; 
But He has strewn our time of years 
With laughter and with scalding tears, 
And if it's ours to mourn today 
Should we not bravely keep the way? 

God would not always have us play, 
Nor ever dance along life's way; 
Our faith is not by sunshine tried, 
But by the clouds that come to hide 
The morning sun, and by our cares; 
And noblest he who noblest bears, 
Who sheds the tears that grief compels, 
Yet ne'er against his God rebels. 



45 



The Boy and the Flag 

XWANT my boy to love his home, 
His mother, yes, and me; 
I want him, whereso'er he'll roam. 
With us in thought to be. 
I want him to love what is fine, 
Nor let his standards drag, 
But, oh, I want that boy of mine 
To love his country's flag. 

I want him when he older grows 

To love all things of earth ; 
And oh ! I want him, when he knows, 

To choose the things of worth. 
I want him to the hights to climb 

Nor let ambition lag ; 
But, oh ! I want him all the time 

To love his country's flag. 

I want my boy to know the best, 

I want him to be great; 
I want him in life's distant west, 

Prepared for any fate. 
I want him to be simple, too, 

Though clever, ne'er to brag. 
But, oh! I want him, through and through 

To love his country's flag. 

I want my boy to be a man, 

And yet in distant years 
I pray that he'll have eyes that can 

Not quite keep back the tears 
When, coming from some foreign shore 

And alien scenes that fag. 
Borne on its native breeze, once more 

He sees his country's flag. 



46 



The Disgrace of Poverty 

^^^HE lady what comes up to our house t' wash 
1^) Is awfully poor, an' she's got 
^^^ Three babies t' care for, an' that's why she 
works, 

An' that's why she worries a lot. 
An' Ma says her husband don't help her at all, 

An' Pa says it's plainly a case 
Where we should be kind t' the woman, becoz 

Real poverty ain't no disgrace. 

An' yesterday mornin' I went down t' her 

An' told her what my Pa had said, 
An' she started t' cry, an' she dried off her hands 

An' stooped down an' patted my head. 
Then I ast if her husband worked hard like my Pa, 

Or couldn't he get work t' do. 
Then she wiped off her tears an' smiled as she said; 
"What a queer little fellow are you!" 

Then she told me her husband was no good at all, 

But jes' loafs around all the day, 
An' that's why she comes up t' our house t' wash, 

So's she can get money t' pay 
For stockin's an' things for her children t' wear, 

An' buy 'em the food that they eat; 
Coz if she didn't do it the landlord would come 

An' turn 'em all into the street. 

An' her husband ain't sick. He's as strong as my Pa, 

An' I told her that I'd be ashamed 
If I was so poor, not t' get out an' work, 

Unless I was crippled an' lamed. 
Then she kissed me an' told me t' run out an' play, 

But I'm thinkin' as hard as I can 
That sometimes it happens that poverty is 

An awful disgrace to a man. 



47 



The Graduation Dress 

X'M not kicking on expenses, now the sewing time 
commences, 
I will buy chiffon and laces till they say they've 
got enough; 
Sure her dress for graduation shall excite the 
admiration 
Of the masses who behold her; it shall be the 
finest stuff. 
She shall even carry roses, when her high school 
training closes, 
For she's worthy of the finest that there is in all 
the town; 
But I sometimes sit and ponder of the days away 
off yonder 
When her mother graduated in a simple gingham 
gown. 

I have watched the fuss and bustle, and this ceaseless 
rush and hustle, 
And I've listened to the planning of this 
graduation dress, 
And I know when all is ended, she will make a picture 
splendid. 
And I wouldn't be contented if she didn't, I 
confess. 
But I still recall the other glorious picture of her 
mother, 
With her cheeks as pink as peaches and her hair 
a golden brown. 
As I gazed at her enraptured, and my heart, I know, 
she captured 
On the day she graduated in her simple gingham 
gown. 

I'd be laughed down if I said it, in such matters they 
don't credit 
Me with knowing what is really very swell; 
I can picture now their faces, if instead of silk and 
laces, 
My preference for gingham, I should tell. 



48 



But with me it's grown a passion, and in spite of style 

and fashion, 
And what women folks think needful, I insist and 

write it down, 
I shall never see another quite so charming as her 

mother 

On the day she graduated in her simple gingham 
gown. 



Neil Snow 

>^^HE whistle sounds! The game is o'er! 
^^ We pay our tribute now with tears 
Instead of smiling eyes and cheers. 
Neil Snow has crossed the line once more. 

Life's scrimmage ends ! A manly soul 

Now passes bravely through the night, 
Undaunted still and Spotless White. 

Neil Snow has made another goal. 

The crowds depart. The setting sun 
Blazes his pathway to the west. 
The stamp of valor's on his breast. 

Neil Snow the Master's M has won. 



49 




Mother of Five 

fHE mothered five! 

Night after night she watched a little 
bed, 

Night after night she cooled a fevered head, 
Day after day she guarded Httle feet, 
Taught Uttle minds the dangers of the street; 
Taught little lips to utter simple prayers, 
Whispered of strength that some day would be theirs 
And trained them all to use it as they should. 
She gave her babies to the nation's good. 

She mothered five! 

She gave her beauty — from her cheeks let fade 
The roses' blushes — to her mother trade. 
She saw the wrinkles furrowing her brow, 
Yet smiling said, '*My boy grows stronger now." 
When pleasures called she turned away and said: 
"I dare not leave my babies to be fed 
By strangers' hands; besides they are so small, 
I must be near to hear them when they call." 

She mothered five! 

Night after night they sat about her knee 
And heard her tell of what some day would be. 
From her they learned that in the world outside 
Are cruelty and vice and selfishness and pride; 
From her they learned the wrongs they ought to shun, 
What things to love, what work must still be done. 
She led them through the labyrinth of youth 
And brought five men and women up to Truth. 

She mothered five! 

Her name may be unknown save to the few, 
Of her the outside world but little knew; 
But somewhere five are treading Virtue's ways, 
Serving the world and brightening its days; 
Somewhere are five, who, tempted, stand upright, 
Clinging to honor, keeping her memory bright; 
Somewhere this mother toils and is alive 
No more as one, but in the breasts of five. 

50 



A Scare 

©HERE are noises that freeze up the blood, 
There's the sound of the burglar at night 
As he's picking the lock, and the thud 
Of a wind-worried door I thought tight ; 
But there's nothing that frightens me more 

Nor causes such horrible dread 
As the bumpety-bump on the floor 

When the baby falls out of his bed. 

The coal pile may rattle and roll 

As it will in its uncanny way, 
But I keep my nerves under control. 

The neighbor's pet canine may bay 
At the moon, and I merely turn o'er. 

But I lose absolutely my head 
At that bumpety-bump on the floor 

When the baby falls out of his bed. 

A shot may ring out in the street. 

And "murder" a woman may yell; 
I may listen to scurrying feet 

But I handle myself rather well. 
A dark house I'll even explore. 

But my heart stops as though I were dead 
At that bumpety-bump on the floor 

When the baby falls out of his bed. 

I know that the old mothers say 

That once every baby must fall. 
That they seldom are hurt in that way 

And really don't mind it at all; 
But still terror closes each pore 

And my hair stands up straight on my head 
At that bumpety-bump on the floor 

When the baby falls out of his bed. 



51 



The Shattered Dream 

XWAS somewhere off in Europe spending money 
like a king, 
Owned a yacht like J. P. Morgan's, when the 
'phone began to ring; 
I was entertaining princes, dukes and earls, when wifie 
said: 
"It's the telephone that's ringing, you must hustle 
out of bed." 
And I wandered down the stairway, grumbling o'er 

my vanished joy. 
Growled: '*Hello;" and then he shouted: ''You're an 
uncle! It's a boy!" 

I was dazed for half a minute — when you're cruising 

foreign seas 
With a lot of royal people, and your sails are full of 

breeze, 
And your guests are gaily laughing, and your skies 

are blue above. 
The arrival of a baby isn't what you're thinking of; 
And I hardly knew I'd taken that old 'phone receiver 

down 
When excitedly he shouted: ''There's a junior come 

to town!" 

But I traveled back from Europe just as quickly as I 

could. 
And left those dukes and princes and I shouted to 

him: "Good!" 
I fired my stylish butlers and I threw my yacht away, 
In my dollar-blue-pajamas I stood there and cried: 

"Hooray!" 
I quit the king, not caring that my conduct might 

annoy. 
And I shouted up to mother: "Did you hear me? 

It's a boy!" 

When I'm dreaming I am wealthy and with money 

I am free. 
There are times I do not welcome folks who telephone 

to me; 

52 



But I don't begrudge the finest dream that ever 

sweetened sleep 
To one who has such news as that, great news that 

cannot keep. 
He may wake me any moment, and my peace it 

won't destroy. 
For I'll share his gladness with him, when he tells me- 
rit's a boy!" 



A Creed 

XMAY suffer, 
But I will not whine. 
This would I make 
A creed of mine; 
I may not win. 

The goal I crave, 
But failing, I 

Will still be brave. 

I'll do my best. 

And give my all 
Unto each task, 

Then if I fall, 
Battered and bruised, 

My way I'll take; 
Excuses though 

I will not make. 

And whether up 

Or down I go, 
I wish to feel 

'Twas ordered so, 
That what I am 

Is God's great plan ; 
But I won't fail 

To be a man. 



53 



Christmas Greeting 

XDO not care to wait until the hand of death 
has smoothed your brow 
Before I say what's in my heart, I'd rather 
tell it to you now. 
I'd rather say: **How glad I am to know your cheery 

voice and smile," 
Than stand and say '*how glad I was" in some grief- 
stricken after-while. 
I'd rather shout: ''how good you are!" than sniffle out : 

"how good was he!" 
And so I take this Christmas Day to say you have a 
friend in me. 

And so I take this Christmas Day to wish you every- 
thing that's fine, 

A cloudless sky for every day, a path where roses 
bloom and twine; 

May sorrow never find your door, but if it shall and 
leave you dumb, 

May to your wounds of grief the balm of consolation 
quickly come. 

May all the best of life be yours, and may, no matter 
where you roam, 

Good luck and gladness go with you, and smiling, 
bring you safely home. 

If wishing only banished care you'd never more have 
cause to sigh. 

If wishing drove the clouds away henceforth the blue 
would fill your sky. 

The pink of health would bloom upon the cheeks of 
those you love for aye. 

And every day God gives to you would be a merry 
Christmas Day. 

I'd wish you everything that's good, I'd wish you 
everything that's fine. 

And then I'd still be in your debt, oh good and faith- 
ful friend of mine. 



54 



A New Year's Song 

HOVE and laughter lead you 
Down the pathways of the year, 
And may each morning feed you 
From the golden spoon of cheer ; 
May every eye be shining, 

And every cheek aglow, 
And may the silver lining 

Of the clouds forever show. 

May peace and plenty find you, 

May pain and grief depart ; 
i\nd may you leave behind you 

The little cares that smart; 
May no day be distressful, 

No night be filled with woe. 
And may you be successful 

Wherever you may go. 

May June bring you her roses. 

May summer poppies bloom. 
And may each day that closes 

Be fragrant with perfume. 
May you have no regretting 

When evening is begun, 
No vain and idle fretting 

O'er what you might have done. 

May envy quit your dwelling 

And hatred leave your heart; 
May you rejoice in telling 

Your brother's better part. 
May you be glad you're living 

However dark your way, 
And find your joy in giving 

Your service to the day. 



55 



05 



What Ma Said 

[HEN Pa came home last night he had a 
package in his hand, 
*'Now Ma," said he, "I've something here 
which you will say is grand. 
A friend of mine got home today from hunting in the 

woods. 
He's been away a week or two, and got back with the 

goods. 
He had a corking string of birds, I wish you could 
have seen 'em!" 
"If you've brought any partridge home," said Ma, 
"you'll have to clean 'em." 

"Now listen. Ma," said Pa to her, "these birds are 
mighty rare. 

I know a lot of men who'd pay a heap to get a pair. 

But it's against the law to sell this splendid sort of 
game. 

And if you bought 'em you would have to use a dif- 
ferent name. 

It isn't every couple has a pair to eat between 'em." 
**If you got any partridge there," says Ma, "you'll 
have to clean 'em." 

"Whenever kings want something fine, it's partridge 
that they eat. 
And millionaires prefer 'em, too, toevery sort of meat. 
About us everywhere tonight are folks who'd think 

it fine 
If on a brace of partridge they could just sit down to 

dine. 
They've got a turkey skinned to death, they're 
sweeter than a chicken." 
"If that's what you've brought home," says Ma, 
"you'll have to do the pickin'." 



56 



And then Pa took the paper off and showed Ma what 
he had, 
"There, look at those two beauties, don't they start 
you feelin' glad? 
An' ain't your mouth a-waterin' to think how fine 

they'll be 
When you've cooked 'em up for dinner, one for you 

an' one for me?" 
But Ma just turned her nose up high, an' said when 
she had seen 'em, 
''You'll never live to eat 'em if you wait for me to 
clean 'em." 



(3 



Life 

'HE dog has life, the breathing ant 
Is living here, as you and I, 
And in the yard the humblest plant 
Lives out its life beneath the sky. 



Life, in itself, is all about, 

'Tis given not alone to man, 

For life we are not singled out 

And favored by some special plan. 

Life's but the opportunity 

To work and be of service here, 

A thousand creatures we may see 

Who merely live from year to year. 

And to the creatures we descend 
If this is all that we bequeath 

Those who surround us at the end. 

That life is just the power to breathe. 



57 



Worth While 

nE doesn't care that I'm not rich, 
Or that I'm poorly dressed, 
That I'm a toiler in the ditch 
He hasn't even guessed. 
My faults that other people know 

He doesn't even see, 
For every night with eyes aglow 
He toddles up to me. 

Although I'm just a common dub. 

And ordinary clay, 
His cheek to mine he's glad to rub 

Before I go away; 
And every night when I return, 

He's glad as he can be, 
And though but little I may earn 

He toddles up to me. 

To come to me he'd leave a king. 

If one were sitting near, 
Unto no millionaire he'd cling 

If only I'd appear. 
And though but tattered rags are mine 

When I go home to tea 
With eyes that fairly beam and shine 

He'd toddle up to me. 

And so I've reason to be glad. 

And reason to rejoice, 
It's worth the world to be a dad, 

To be a baby's choice. 
There is no prize fame can bestow, 

No joy can ever be 
So real, as when, with eyes aglow, 

He toddles up to me. 



58 



The Path o' Little Children 

^^^HE path o' little children is the path I want to 

^ J tread, 

^^^ Where green is every valley and every rose 

is red, 
Where laughter's always ringing and every smile is 

real. 
And where the hurts are little hurts that just a kiss will 

heal. 

The path o' little children, on the primrose edge o' 

Ufe, 
That leads away from jealousy and bitterness and 

strife ; 
The path that leads to gladness — that's the way I 

want to go, 
Where no one speaks unkindly an' where no one keeps 

a foe. 

The path o' little children that winds o'er hill and dale 
An' leads us down to gentle seas where tiny vessels 

sail; 
An' leads us through the barnyard an' through the 

pasture bars 
An' brings us home at evening with hearts that know 

no scars. 

The path o' little children, where peaceful dreams 

come true, 
Where sunshine's always streaming, an' every sky is 

blue; 
Where each one loves the other, an' every one is fair, 
An' cheeks are pink with beauty, an' singing fills the 

air. 

The path o' little children, it's there I want to tread, 
Where innocence is dwelling with not a thing to dread ; 
Where care is not an ogre and sin is but a name. 
An' no one thinks of money an' no one sighs for fame. 



59 




Only a Building 

{Celebrating the formal dedication of the new home of the 
Detroit Board of Commerce.) 

'OU may delve down to rock for your founda- 
tion piers, 
You may go with your steel to the sky; 
You may purchase the best of the thought of the years 

And the finest of workmanship buy ; 
You may line with the rarest of marble each wall, 

And with gold you can tint it, but then 
It is only a building if it after all 

Isn't filled with the spirit of men. 

You may put up a structure of brick and of stone 

Such as never was put up before; 
Place within it the costliest woods that are grown 

And carve every pillar and door; 
You may fill it with splendors of quarry and mine, 

With the glories of brush and of pen ; 
But it's only a building, though ever so fine, 

If it hasn't the spirit of men. 

You may build such a structure that lightning can't 
harm. 

Or one that an earthquake can't raze; 
You may build it of granite and boast that its charm 

Shall last to the end of all days. 
But you might as well never have builded at all. 

Never cleared off the bog and the fen 
If after it's finished, it's sheltering wall 

Doesn't stand for the spirit of men. 

For it isn't the marble, nor is it the stone. 

Nor is it the columns of steel 
By which is the worth of an edifice known, 

But something that's living and real. 



60 



It isn't its grandeur that makes a place great, 

For a shack becomes glorious when 
(And thousands will gladly walk up to its gate) 

It is doing a service for men. 

Is it only a building you dedicate here 

With its splendors of marble and stone? 
Is it only with brick and with plaster you rear, 

Or something of flesh and of bone? 
Oh, vain were this building, though splendid its dress, 

And vain were its desks and its shelves 
That you dedicate now to man's service, unless 

You dedicate also yourselves. 



The Limit 

XCAN stand for the man with the cute little bow 
On the back of his green colored hat. 
For there are a lot of good fellows I know 
Who somehow have fallen for that. 
The fedora of plush is a lid I don't like. 
It's a fad that will never be missed, 
But somehow I've always an itching to strike 
The man with the watch on his wrist. 

I've grown peevish at times at the ladylike man 

Who says "Mercy me!" and "O, dear!" 
And the chap in the ball room who uses a fan 

Is the chap I could swat on the ear. 
The swell with a cane in the crotch of his arm 

Isn't human, I often insist, 
But some day somebody is going to harm 

The man with the watch on his wrist. 



61 




The Child World 

'HE child world is a wondrous world, 
For there the flags of hate are furled, 
And there the imps of wickedness 
Cause neither sorrow nor distress. 
And there is never strife for gold, 
There petty gossip's never told. 
There all is joy and wondrous mirth, 
The child earth is a glorious earth. 

The land of childhood is aglow 
With smiles, and there pink roses grow 
Upon the cheeks of boys and girls ; 
The golden rod is yellow curls. 
And eyes of brown and eyes of blue 
Are daisies and the violets, too; 
And warm and true is every hand 
That clings to yours in Childhood Land. 

Who owns a spot on childhood's globe 
Envies no king his ermine robe; 
Envies no sage his manners wise, — 
His world is rich with glad surprise, 
The quaintest of all speech he hears. 
The truest smiles, the sweetest tears 
Are his possessions every day 
However troubled be his way. 

Who knows the joys of Childhood Land, 

The pressure of a tiny hand, 

The joy that's in a babe's caress, 

The soft embrace of happiness. 

The sweet good-nights, the shouts of glee 

That greet the morning lustily. 

Has riches, those who childless live 

To know, would all their fortunes give. 



62 



Hubbard and Pelletier 

Elbert Hubbard of East Aurora was the guest of E. LeRoy Pelletier 
at luncheon Wednesday. — From the news column. 

^^k;^WO long-haired friends at table sat 
C^ And sipped some old Sauterne, 

^^^ And each one sought throughout the chat 
The other's tricks to learn. 
"I see some dandruff on your coat," 
To Elbert whispered Roy; 
Said Elbert, clearing out his throat: 
"That's genius, my boy." 

''A goodly crop of hair you own," 

To Roy, then quoth the sage: 
"Mine had not quite so bushy grown 
When I was at your age. 
I like the way you brush it back, 

'Tis pleasing to the eye, 
But one thing I perceive you lack, 
And that's a flowing tie." 

"Why wear you such an awful thing?" 

Then questioned Roy the Fra; 
"Because it is distinguishing. 

And men know who you are. 
The hair and tie have marked me well," 

In confidence he spake, 
"And Elbert Hubbard all can tell 

Where'er my way I take." 

Not far from where this famous pair 

Were chatting, sat a crowd: 
Said one: "That's Elbert Hubbard there!" 
The voice was fairly loud. 
"Which one?" exclaimed another then, 

In still a higher pitch. 
"The long-haired one," he said again. 
Said he: "I know, but which?" 



63 




The Vote of Thanks 

'OR every man who works there are 
A dozen who will let him; 
They'll smiling bask within the shade 
The while his duties fret him. 
And when his arduous tasks are done, 

From out the idle ranks 
There promptly steps a grateful one 
To move a vote of thanks. 

Where more than three foregathered are 

In meeting, club or lodge. 
Some cheerful soul must do the work 

That all the others dodge. 
Some one for all must toil and plan, 

Some one the money banks, 
For which the shirkers to a man 

Will move a vote of thanks. 

The many spend their hours in ease, 

While busy are the few; 
The glory of the game they want 

But not its work to do. 
Untroubled here on earth they live. 

The strength that's in their shanks 
They save, to those who toil, to give 

A rising vote of thanks. 

Some day when all the work is done 

And rest has settled down. 
Perhaps the weary toiler then 

Will wear a golden crown. 
Upon his breast may medals flash, 

And at the Heavenly banks 
Perhaps they'll even let him-^ash 

Those rising votes of thanks. 



64 



m 



The Sensible Romance of Mildred 

[ILDRED McGee was a beautiful blond, 
As fair as peroxide could make her. 
She was never so shy that a man going by- 
Would imagine that she was a Quaker. 
She had suitors that called every night in the week 

And one of them worked in a shoe shop, 
But her "favor-ite" man was a chap named McGann 
Who was boss of a gang in a glue shop. 

Her folks used to scoff at young Patrick McGann 

For they wished her to marry a plumber ; 
But Mildred was true to the maker of glue, 

Though she flirted at times with a drummer. 
Though she flirted at times with the pharmacist's 
clerk. 

And she flirted at times with the baker, 
She stuck to McGann, the glue factory man. 

Not a bit could her fond parents shake her. 

"You're in awful bad odor," she said, **with my folks, 
When you come they both turn up their noses ; 
But I said when they kicked, that the plumber 
they've picked 
Isn't scented with attar of roses. 
When a girl is in love with a fellow, I've found 

There's something inside her that rages; 
An' I'd rather be true to a sweetheart like you 
Than a sweet-smelling chap with no wages. 

"There's many fine fellows who brag of their jobs 

An' spend all their coin in a brew shop; 
An' take it from me, I'd much rather be 

The wife of the man in a glue shop. 
Not all of us girls can get married to dudes 

An' college professors an' scholars; 
With you I'm content, I'll not stop at a scent 

So long as you bring in the dollars." 



65 



A Good World 

XT'S a good old world we're livin' in 
With all its pain an' sorrow; 
A world where friends are givin' in 
To cheer us till tomorrow. 
A world where folks come forward, when 

They see our feet are slippin' 
To help us till we come again 

To where the honey's drippin'. 

I reckon that we'd never know 

How kind an' good our friends are 
If trouble's face should never show 

Off yonder where the bends are. 
If sudden-like there never came 

A rain to drench a feller 
We'd miss the friend who made us claim 

A share of his umbreller. 

If never came to us a woe 

That seemed we couldn't bear it, 
We'd never positively know 

Which friend would rush to share it. 
We'd miss a heap of sweetness, too. 

That we could never borrow, 
A sweetness no one ever knew, 

Save it was born of sorrow. 

This thought old care has driven in, 

An' grief an' trouble taught me, 
It's a good old world we're livin' in 

Despite the woes it's brought me. 
For had I never shed a tear, 

Nor known what sorrow's rends are, 
I never would have learned down here 

How kind an' good my friends are. 



66 



Wisdom's Haunts 

>^Y^AY out in the woods there are brothers who 
r I y read 

^*^^ By the Hght of a candle, in Greek, 
And in far away places are thousands, indeed, 

Who several languages speak. 
I have sat near a stove in a queer little store 

Where the farmers were gathered, and heard 
A learned discussion of classical lore 

That my soul with amazement has stirred. 

I have looked at rough hands and at storm-weathered 
cheeks 

And imagined their master to be 
Uncultured, untutored, as wild as the creeks 

That are rushing their way to the sea; 
But I've found just behind the stern mask that he 
wears, 

In the simplest of style and of dress, 
A knowledge of life and a grasp of affairs 

That professors don't always possess. 

I blush for the arrogant city man's ways 

Who struts in his pomp and his pride. 
And thinks that all wisdom in city walls stays, 

And fools in the country abide. 
For out in life's forests and out on its plains, 

By the side of her mountains and brooks. 
In the roughest of garments are scholars with brains 

Who know the inside of their books. 

Oh, fool from the city, who views with a sneer 

What is not of the city itself! 
For what are the things that you seem to revere 

But the glint and the glitter of pelf? 
You are warped with conceit and are prejudice-blind, 

And you know not the truth of the earth. 
That wherever men labor there always you'll find 

The things that are really of worth. 



67 



Henry Ford's Offhand Way 

speaking of Henry Ford's purchase of a million dollars' worth of 
city bonds, Controller Engel said; '''He talked about buying those bonds 
exactly as I would talk about buying a sack of peanuts." — News item. 

^^r^HERE may be some of us who'd stop and 

€^^ scratch our heads awhile 

^^^ Before we'd spend a million of our hard- 
earned little pile; 

And some of us perhaps might want to ponder on the 
deal, 

To see the goods before we'd buy, to know that they 
were real, 

I'm sure that I should hesitate and count once more 
my hoard 

Before I'd write a check like that, but not so Henry 
Ford. 

He merely yawned and stretched a bit, and then said : 
"By the way, 

A million dollars' worth of bonds, I guess, will do 
today." 

And some of us there are who might regret it all our 

lives 
If we should do a trick like that and not consult our 

wives. 
Before we'd spend a million bones I think we'd hem 

and haw 
And then decide to wait a day and put it up to Maw. 
I'm sure I shouldn't spend that much upon my own 

accord, 
I'd be afraid of what she'd say, but not so Henry Ford. 
He just looked through the window at the autumn 

tints of earth 
And said: "Those bonds you spoke about. I'll take 

a million's worth." 

And some of us, perhaps, before we'd part with such a 

bunch 
Would make the salesman take us out and blow us 

off to lunch; 



68 



We'd have him bowing down to us and tapping at 
our door, 

And make him say a dozen times the things he'd said 
before. 

I'm sure before he closed with me and captured his 
reward 

I'd make him work a month or two, but not so Henry- 
Ford. 

He merely said, the while he flicked from off his coat 
a speck: 

'Send up a million dollars' worth. I'll write you out 
a check." 

Who knows but what he thought about the song 

birds on the farm. 
And looked away as though to see the trees in 

autumn's charm? 
Perhaps he saw the pumpkins ripe and fodder in the 

shock 
And watched a little feller who was driving home 

the stock. 
While the agent's heart was beating he was calm as 

he could be. 
But perhaps he saw a little boy with patches on his 

knee. 
Years and miles away from business, in the town that 

gave him birth, 
Who never dreamed he'd buy of bonds a million 

dollars' worth. 



69 




The Panama Canal 

'BOVE it flies the flag we love, 

Within it is the blood we gave; 
It stands a part and portion of 
The courage that once freed the slave. 
The strength that fought for liberty 

Hewed out the rock that barred its way ; 
The men who toiled that it might be 
Were children of the U. S. A. 

Within its sides there is no stone 

But what Americans have placed; 
Above it other flags have flown 

And seen their labors go to waste. 
To build it other lands have tried 

And have deserted in dismay, 
But they, who would not be defied, 

Were children of the U. S. A. 

Into its massive walls were poured 

The gold that bore the eagle's stamp; 
Within each foot of it is stored 

The grit of Valley Forge's camp. 
This wedding of divided seas, 

That is a finished fact today, 
Stands out among the victories 

That glorify the U. S. A. 

No alien land was asked to aid. 

No foreign friend was leaned upon; 
This by Americans was made 

While all the world stood looking on. 
And molded into every part 

From coast to coast, to last for aye, 
There are the blood and flesh and heart 

And genius of the U. S. A. 



70 



Beneath Old Glory this was done, 

Beneath Old Glory shall it dwell; 
As long as there are seas to run 

This nation's splendor shall it tell. 
As long as human hearts shall thrill 

And patriotism men shall sway, 
This must remain to speak the skill 

And courage of the U. S. A. 



© 



Play the Man 

AKE your troubles 
' Best you can. 

Stand right up 
And play the man. 

Face 'em just 

As though you knew 
You were coming 

Safely through. 

Blows will hurt 

And bruise you, maybe, 
But don't whimper 

Like a baby. 

Stand right up 

And be a man. 
Meet your troubles 

Best you can. 



71 



The Naughty Little Fellow 

^y^HEN a naughty little fellow stands ashamed in 

r 1 1 front of you 

^^^ And his lips begin to quiver and he's ready to 

boo-hoo, 
When his big round eyes are filling with the tears he 

cannot check, 
And at last you find him sobbing with his arms around 

your neck, 
Don't you get a tender feeling sort of stealing over you, 
Till you feel like crying with him? — Well, you bet your 

life I do. 

When a naughty little fellow, who's the counterpart of 

you, 
Has been guilty of the very willful deeds you used 

to do. 
And you've got him on the carpet, where you often 

used to stand, 
And you quickly feel the pressure of a grimy little 

hand 
That has stolen rather slyly into yours and thrilled 

you through, 
Don't you overlook his conduct? — Well, you bet your 

life I do. 

When a naughty little fellow that has disobeyed his 

Ma 
Has at last been brought to judgment in the presence 

of his Pa, 
Who has heard that dreadful story of that very 

dreadful day. 
And you know that he is worried over what you'll 

do or say, 
And against your cheek you notice there's a cheek that's 

damp and hot, 
Are you stern enough to whip him? — Well, you bet 

your life I'm not. 



72 



The Jedge of Bowie County 

{The same being Maclyn Arbuckle.) 

nE WAS bo'n way down in Texas, where the 
sun is alius shinin*. 
An' a cloud's so thin it's easy to observe the 
silver linin'. 
An' he grew among the quaint folk an' the simple folk 

that labored 
In the mint an' melon patches, an* with them for 

years he neighbored; 
An* he stored up all the sunshine in the Texas skies 

above him 
An* the red hearts of the melons, till they're part an' 
passel of him. 

He was Jedge of Bowie county, jedge fer cullud an* 

fer white folk, 
Whar he learned the ways of people, learned the 

wrong folk an' the right folk. 
An* his heart grew big with kindness fer the ones who 

came with sad things 
An* his face grew round with smilin* at the ones who 

came with glad things. 
Fer the Jedge of Bowie county all his early days was 

storin' 
Up the laughter of old Texas that should set us all 

a-roarin.' 

Now the spices of the mint patch an' the juices of 

the melon 
Seem to sorter drip an* trickle through the stories 

that he's tellin; 
An* he shakes our sides with laughter, and he leads 

us all to gladness, 
Till we*ve plum forgot the troubles that have caused 

us any sadness; 
Oh, it seems that life is givin* us an extra joyous 

bounty 
When it lets us sit an* listen to the Jedge of Bowie 

County. 



73 



H 



Out Fishin' 

FELLER isn't thinkin' mean, 

Out fishin'; 
His thoughts are mostly good an' clean, 
Out fishin' ; 



He doesn't knock his fellow men, 
Or harbor any grudges then; 
A feller's at his finest, when 
Out fishin'. 

The rich are comrades to the poor 

Out fishin' ; 
All brothers of a common lure, 

Out fishin' ; 
The urchin with the pin an' string 
Can chum with millionaire an' king; 
Vain pride is a forgotten thing 

Out fishin'. 

A feller gits a chance to dream. 

Out fishin'; 
He learns the beauties of a stream. 

Out fishin' ; 
An' he can wash his soul in air 
That isn't foul with selfish care. 
An' relish plain an' simple fare 

Out fishin*. 

A feller has no time fer hate. 

Out fishin'; 
He isn't eager to be great, 

Out fishin' ; 
He isn't thinkin' thoughts of pelf. 
Or goods stacked high upon a shelf. 
But he is always just himself. 

Out fishin'. 

A feller's glad to be a friend. 

Out fishin' ; 
A helpin' hand he'll always lend, 

Out fishin'; 



74 



The brotherhood of rod an' line 
An* sky an* stream is always fine;. 
Men come real close to God's design, 
Out fishin.' 

A feller isn't plotting schemes, 

Out fishin'; 
He's only busy with his dreams, 

Out fishin'; 
His livery is a coat of tan, 
His creed: to do the best he can; 
A feller's always mostly man, 
' Out fishin'. 



B 



The Toiler 

E swore that he'd be true to her. 
If she would only marry him ; 
That as his wife, throughout his life 
She'd never know a moment grim. 



He vowed that he would toil for her. 

That she should wear the latest things, 

He'd robe in furs that form of hers 

And deck her hands with diamond rings. 

He promised her a motor car. 

And maids to answer her commands; 
In water hot, with dish and pot 

He swore she'd never dip her hands. 

Oh, fine the promises he made. 

Oh, vows by which her heart was stirred ! 
And since that time, it's been a crime 

The way he's worked to keep his word. 



75 



Lonely 

j^B^HE walls have seemed to say to me 
^ J Where have the sticky fingers gone 
^^■^ That always found their way to me, 

And left their prints to gaze upon. 
The halls have worn a gloomy air 

And seemed like tunnels, dark and black, 
And it has seemed that every chair 

Has asked me when they're coming back. 

The stairs have seemed to speak to me 
Each night as I have climbed alone. 

And pitifully squeak to me: 

"Where have the little people flown?** 

The beds all smooth and sternly kept 

Have said with faces drawn and white 

Where are the curly heads that slept 
On us, so sweetly, every night? 

The untouched toys have stared at me 

As if to say the days are long, 
And all their dolls have glared at me 

As though accusing me of wrong. 
And every rug so straight and stiff 

Has seemed to sigh for rumpling feet. 
And worn a sorry look as if 

It missed the mud-tracks of the street. 

The bird has twittered low to me 

A sort of solemn, sad refrain 
As though he tried to show to me 

He wishes they were near again. 
But soon the walls and halls and chairs 

Will know once more the charm they lack, 
And little feet will race the stairs. 

They've sent me word they're coming back. 



76 



Arcady 

^T^HERE is the road to Arcady, 

V 1 X Where is the path that leads to peace, 

^^^ Where shall I find the bliss to be, 

Where shall the weary wanderings cease? 
These are the questions that come to me, 
Where is the road to Arcady? 

Is there a mystic time and place 

To which some day shall the traveler fare, 
Where there is never a frowning face 

And never a burden hard to bear. 
Where we as children shall romp and race? 
Is there a mystic time and place? 

For Arcady is an earthly sphere 

Where only the gentlest breezes blow, 

A port of rest for the weary here, 

Where the velvet grass and the clover grow. 

I question it oft, is it far or near? 

For Arcady is an earthly sphere. 

And the answer comes: it is very near. 
It's there at the end of a little street. 

Where your children's voices are ringing clear 
And you catch the patter of little feet. 

Where is the spot that is never drear? 

And the answer comes: it is very near. 

For each man buildeth his Arcady, 

And each man fashions his Port of Rest ; 

And never shall earth spot brighter be 

Than the little home that with peace is blessed. 

So seek it not o'er the land and sea, 

For each man buildeth his Arcady. 



77 



The Old-Fashioned Parents 

CHE good old-fashioned mothers and the good 
old-fashioned dads 
With their good old-fashioned lassies and their 
good old-fashioned lads, 
Still walk the lanes of loving in their simple, tender 

ways 
As they used to do back yonder in the good old- 
fashioned days. 

They dwell in every city and they live in every town. 

Contentedly and happy and not hungry for renown ; 

On every street you'll find 'em in their simple gar- 
ments clad, 

The good old-fashioned mother and the good old- 
fashioned dad. 

There are some who sigh for riches, there are some who 

yearn for fame, 
And a few misguided people who no longer blush at 

shame ; 
But the world is full of mothers and the world is full of 

dads 
Who are making sacrifices for their little girls and lads. 

They are growing old together, arm in arm they walk 

along. 
And their hearts with love are beating and their voices 

sweet with song; 
They still share their disappointments and they share 

their pleasures, too. 
And whatever be their fortune, to each other they are 

true. 

They are watching at the bedside of a baby pale and 

white, 
And they kneel and pray together for the care of God 

at night; 



78 



They are romping with their children in the fields of 

clover sweet, 
And devotedly they guard them from the perils of the 

street. 

They are here in countless numbers, just as they have 
always been, 

And their glory is untainted by the selfish and the 
mean. 

And I'd hate to still be living, it would dismal be and 
sad, 

If we'd no old-fashioned mother and we'd no old- 
fashioned dad. 



A Prayer 

XF I am to suffer pain. 
Let me bear it as a man. 
If I'm not the hights to gain 
Let me do the best I can. 
Let me travel on my way 

Glad of heart and with a smile, 
Finding something every day 

That is really worth the while. 

If I am to reach my goal 

Let me not grow proud and vain, 
Without arrogance of soul 

Let me victories attain. 
Let me travel on my way 

Winning whatsoe'er I can 
But remembering every day 

What I owe my fellow man. 



79 



He Earned His Way 

HE rose unto the hights of fame 
And with the great men stood, 
He heard the people cheer his name 
And speak of him as good. 
Success at last he had attained 

By toiling day by day; 
His father's name was unprofaned, 
His crest of honor was unstained, 
He earned his way. 

He had not sought the easy road 

Nor tried a doubtful scheme, 
But he had borne his heavy load 

Up hill and over stream. 
He had not stooped to do a wrong 

That might not be unlearned; 
But though the way at times seemed long 
He plodded on with courage strong 

And every victory earned. 

He heard men whisper in the night, 

That venturing disgrace, 
And stepping from the path of right 

But hiding every trace, 
Were all he had to do to win, 

That honor could be feigned. 
But still he kept a lifted chin, 
Filled with the holy thought within. 

To earn whate'er he gained. 

He rose unto the hights of fame. 

And with the great men stood; 
He never compromised with shame. 

Nor bartered what was good. 
With head erect he toiled along, 

With clean hands for the fray, 
He heard the gossip of the throng 
That many profited by wrong, 

But earned his way. 



80 



& 



The Toy-Strewn Home 

'IVE me the house where the toys are strewn, 
Where the dolis are asleep in the chairs, 
Where the building blocks and the toy bal- 
loon 
And the soldiers guard the stairs; 
Let me step in a house where the tiny cart 

With the horses rules the floor, 
And rest comes into my weary heart 
For I am at home once more. 

Give me the house with the toys about, 

With the battered old train of cars. 
The box of paints and the books left out, 

And the ship with her broken spars; 
Let me step in a house at the close of day 

That is littered with children's toys, 
And dwell once more in the haunts of play 

With the echoes of by-gone noise. 

Give me the house where the toys are seen. 

The house where the children romp, 
And I'll happier be than man has been 

'Neath the gilded dome of pomp. 
Let me see the litter of bright-eyed play 

Strewn over the parlor floor, 
And the joys I knew in a far-off day 

Will gladden my heart once more. 

Whoever has lived in a toy-strewn home. 

Though feeble he be and gray. 
Will yearn, no matter how far he roam. 

For the glorious disarray 
Of the little home with its littered floor 

That was his in the by-gone days. 
And his heart will throb as it throbbed before, 

When he rests where a baby plays. 



81 



Snooping 'Round 

HAST night I caught him on his knees and 
looking underneath the bed, 
And oh, the guilty look he wore, and oh, the 
stammered words he said, 
When I, pretending to be cross, said: *'Hey, young 

fellow, what's your game?" 
As if, back in the long ago, I hadn't also played the 

same; 
As if, upon my hands and knees, I hadn't many a 

time been found 
When, thinking of the Christmas Day, I'd gone up- 
stairs to snoop around. 

But there he stood and hung his head; the rascal 

knew it wasn't fair. 
**I jes' was wonderin', he said, "jes' what it was that's 

under there, 
It's somepin' all wrapped up an' I thought mebbe it 

wuz a sled, 
Becoz I saw a piece of wood 'at's stickin' out all 

painted red." 
**If mother knew," I said to him, ''you'd get a licking 

I'll be bound, 
But just clear out of here at once, and don't you ever 

snoop around." 

And as he scampered down the stairs, I stood and 

chuckled to myself 
As I remembered how I'd oft explored the topmost 

closet shelf. 
It all came back again to me with what a shrewd and 

cunning way 
I, too, had often sought to solve the mysteries of 

Christmas Day. 
How many times my daddy, too, had come upstairs 

without a sound 
And caught me, just as I'd begun my clever scheme 

to snoop around. 



82 



And oh, I envied him his plight, I envied him the joy- 
he feels ^''4^ 

Who knows that every drawer that's locked some 
treasure dear to him conceals; 

I envied him his Christmas fun and wished that it 
again were mine 

To seek to solve the mysteries by paper wrapped and 
bound by twine. 

Some day he'll come to understand that all the time 
I stood and frowned, 

I saw a boy of years ago who also used to snoop 
around. 



Life 

HIFE has its ups and downs, of course. 
Its happy marriage and divorce, 
It has its joys, it has its woes, 
It has its ayes, it has its noes, 
It has its ins and outs, that's plain, 
Its sunshine and its days of rain. 
It has its good points and its bad. 
Its cheerful moments and its sad; 
Its births^and deaths, its smiles and tears. 
Its faiths and doubts, its hopes and fears. 
And looked at, too, from every phase. 
It has death beaten forty ways. 



83 



Fixing the Shame 

V^JHEY put him in jail for the thing he'd done, 
^ J For that was the law they'd made; 
^^^ They turned the key on his youth till he 

The price of his crime had paid. 
And the wise judge said as he sentenced him, 

And spoke from the facts he knew: 
"The deed was yours, and the wide outdoors 

No longer belongs to you." 

Oh, it isn't so long ago there went 

A toddling lad of three 
At the close of day for a bit of play 

Astride of his father's knee. 
And the father scowled and sent him off. 

"Go play with the lads outside, 
Don't bother me with your pranks," said he; 

And he sneered when the youngster cried. 

And the father went to his work all day 

And went to his bed at night. 
And he gave no heed to the baby's need 

Nor shared in the lad's delight. 
He never knew who his playmates were. 

Nor followed him off to school, 
But in manner grim he punished him 

Whenever he broke the rule. 

Midnight came not so long ago 

And the youngster was not in bed. 

But the father slept while the mother kept 
The watch that all mothers dread. 

And whenever the mother spoke of him 

Through the long black hours of night, 

As the cold wind howled the father growled: 
"Don't worry, the boy's all right." 

Society said at the end of things ! 
"The doer of crime must pay; 
In a grated cell we'll make him dwell, 
Shut in from the light of day." 

84 



But I like to think that the Judge on High 
Who rights all our earthly wrongs 

At another time, will fix that crime 
Exactly where it belongs. 



C 



Service 

O the cause one man gave gold, 
Then withdrew into his den 
From the battle line, and told 
How he served his fellowmen. 



When they came and begged for aid, 
Gladly from his purse he gave, 

And he hoped that those he paid 
Would continue being brave. 

**To the cause," another said, 

**I've no gold that I can give, 
But I'll fight for it instead. 

Just so long as I shall live.** 

Day by day and night by night. 
He that hath no gold to spare, 

In the thickest of the fight 

Fought and cheered his fellows there. 

There are hundreds here to share, 
For the principle, their pelf, 

But he better serves who'll dare 
To a cause to give himself. 

This world does not need your coin 
Half so much as it needs you, 

What it wants is men to join 
In the work it has to do. 



85 



Off to School 

XT doesn't seem a year ago that I was tumbling 
out of bed, 
The icy steps that lead below at 1 a.m., bare- 
foot, to tread, 
And puttering round the kitchen stove, while chills 

ran up and down my form 
As I stood there and waited for her bottled dinner to 

get warm; 
Then sampled it to see that it was not too hot or not 

too cool, 
That doesn't seem a year ago, and now she's trudging 
off to school. 

It doesn't seem a month ago that I was teaching her to 
walk, 

And holding out my arms to her. And that was 'fore 
she learned to talk. 

I stood her up against the wall, eager, yet watchful 
lest she fall, 

Then suddenly she came to me — the first two steps 
those feet so small 

Had, unassisted, ever made! Those feet I hope to 
guide and rule; 

That doesn't seem a month ago — and now she's trudg- 
ing off to school. 

It doesn't seem a week ago that we were playing peek- 
a-boo. 

She'd lift her little dress and hide her face as all the 
babies do; 

And then we'd laugh and romp and shout, and I would 
ride her pig-a-back. 

A pair of gay disturbers we, with not a care along life's 
track ! 

The days were meant for laughter then, and I was glad 
to play the fool. 

That doesn't seem a week ago — and now she's trudg- 
ing off to school. 



86 



Oh, Father Time, Hne deep my brow, and tinge my 
thinning hair with gray, 

Deal harshly with my battered form as you go speed- 
ing on your way; 

Print on my face your marks of years, and stamp me 
with your yesterdays, 

But, oh, tread softly now, I pray, the ground whereon 
my baby plays. 

Pass over her with gentle touch; to keep her young 
break every rule. 

But yesterday she was a babe — and now she's trudging 
off to school. 



X 



Human Failings 

RECKON when our days are done 
And God takes up our record sheets, 
And sees the battles we have won, 
He'll want to read of our defeats. 



Our little failings He will view. 

And gaze at us with kindly smile, 

And maybe say: "I see that you 
Have faltered every little while." 

I reckon that he'll like to see 

The blots and blemishes between 

The splendid works of you and me. 

To learn how human we have been. 



87 



His Rattle He Throws on the Floor 
Vr^HEN something or other has made him feel 

rn glad, 

^^ His rattle he throws on the floor; 
The times he is good and the times he is bad, 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 
When there is a smile on his pink little face, 
Or a pin that is holding his garments in place 
Has slipped from its moorings, he makes a grimace 

And his rattle he throws on the floor. 

When we are alone for the meal we call tea, 

His rattle he throws on the floor; 
And on the occasions we have company, 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 
When the cat strokes her side on the leg of his chair, 
When no one is looking, or when we all stare. 
When he's tired, or he isn't, of sitting up there, 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 

When he thinks that he ought to have something to eat 

His rattle he throws on the floor; 
When he's eaten too much — his most usual feat — 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 
When he's hot, when he's cold, when he's bold, when 

he's shy. 
When he's thinking of starting or stopping a cry, 
Before waving **how-do" to his dad, or *'good-bye," 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 

And his mother does nothing but wait on him when 

His rattle he throws on the floor; 
She recovers it for him, but straightway again 

His rattle he throws on the floor. 
Out of patience, we once on the floor let it stay, 
But he put up a howl, for he wanted to play, 
So relenting, we gave it to him, and straightway 

His rattle he threw on the floor. 



88 



© 



Sacrifices 

EHIND full many a gift there lies 
A splendid tale of sacrifice. 



On Christmas morn a mother's hand 

About a young girl's neck will place 
A trinket small, and she will stand 

With radiant smiles upon her face 
To see her daughter decked in gold, 

Nor will she think, nor will she care 
That she may suffer from the cold 

Because that bauble glistens there. 

A child will wake on Christmas Day 

And find his stocking filled with toys ; 
The home will ring with laughter gay. 

That boy be glad as richer boys. 
And there a mother fond will sing 

A song of joy to hear his shout. 
Forgetting every needed thing 

That she will have to do without. 

A heart that's brimming o'er with love 

Will suffer gladly for a friend, 
And take no time in thinking of 

How much it can afford to spend. 
And suddenly on Christmas morn 

Will gladness beam from shining eyes, 
A gladness that alone was born 

Of someone's willing sacrifice. 

Let cynics scoff howe'er they will 

And say but fools such presents give, 
There'll be such sacrifices till 

All human love shall cease to live. 
'Twould be a dreary world of thrift, 

Of barren ways, and sunless skies. 
If no one ever gave a gift 

That was not born of sacrifice. 

The brightest gifts that us reward ^ 
Are those the givers can't afford. 

89 V ^ 




Tuckered Out 

'OU don't weigh more than thirty pounds, 
Your legs are little, plump and fat, 
And yet you patter on your rounds 
The whole day long within our flat. 
Yes, ceaselessly, you come and go. 

In search of things you want to see. 
You're only two years old, but oh 

You walk the strength right out of me. 

A dozen times a day or more 

You gayly lead me up the stairs. 
Then back to try the kitchen door, 

Then round about the parlor chairs. 
You come and take me by the hand 

And splendidly you march away 
Until by night I scarce can stand. 

While you are fresh and keen for play. 

You know not what it is to tire, 

You never seem to care for rest; 
You seem to have but one desire 

And that's to go, 'till you're undressed. 
And this tonight I'll say to you 

As you are tugging at my knee. 
That it is all that I can do 

To keep the pace you set for me. 

Oh, little chap, with tireless step, 

Oh, little laughing chap of two, 
I somehow wish I had your "pep" 

And could keep up as well as you! 
I wish I had what you possess. 

The strength to romp and play and run, 
Yet every Sunday, I confess, 

I'm tuckered out when night comes on. 



90 



Memories of Tomorrow 

y^:^HESE are the memories of tomorrow, 
1) Smile of friend we meet today, 
^'^ Sympathy to soothe our sorrow, 

Roses blooming by the way ; 
Little jests to cheer the living, 

Little deeds of kindness done, 
Thought to them shall we be giving 

When the years have wandered on. 

What seems slight to us at present 

Will grow big in other days; 
Memory will make it pleasant, 

We'll retread these happy ways. 
We shall sigh to greet the brother 

That today we hurry by; 
Joys we share with one another 

We'll remember, you and I. 

Little pranks that we are playing. 

Little songs that now we sing. 
Orchard lanes that we are straying 

Will come back, and with them bring 
Far more gladness, far more sweetness 

Than we seem to find today. 
We shall see them in completeness 

When the present slips away. 

Gentle skies that float above us. 

Babies romping 'round the floor. 
Friends who show us that they love us, 

Roses blooming at the door; 
Hours now dark with care and sorrow. 

Love that comes to dry the eye 
Are the memories of tomorrow 

We shall treasure, you and I. 



91 




Tinkerin' at Home 

fOME folks there be that seems to need 
excitement fast an' furious. 
An' reckon all the joj^s that have no thrill in 
'em are spurious. 
Some think that pleasure's only found down where 

the lights are shining 
An' where an orchestra's at work the while the folks 

are dining. 
Still others seek it at their play, while some there are 

who roam, 
But I am happiest when I am tinkerin' 'round the 
home. 

I like to wear my oldest clothes, an' fuss around the 

yard 
An' dig a flower bed now an' then, and pensively 

regard 
The mornin' glories climbin' all along the wooden 

fence. 
An' do the little odds an' ends that aren't of 

consequence. 
I like to trim the hedges, an' touch up the paint a bit, 
An' sort of take a homely pride in keepin' all things fit. 
An' I don't envy rich folks who are sailin' o'er the foam 
When I can spend a day or two in tinkerin' 'round the 

home. 

If I were fixed with money, as some other people are, 
I'd take things mighty easy. I'd not travel very far. 
I'd jes' wear my oldest trousers an' my flannel shirt, 

an' stay 
An' guard my vine an' fig tree in an old man's tender 

way. 
I'd bathe my soul in sunshine every mornin', an' I'd 

bend 
My back to pick the roses. Oh, I'd be a watchful 

friend 



92 



To everything around the place, an' in the twilight 

gloam 
I'd thank the Lord for lettin' me jes' tinker 'round the 
home. 

But since I've got to hustle in the turmoil of the town, 
An' don't expect I'll ever be allowed to settle down 
An' live among the roses an' the tulips an' the phlox, 
Or spend my time in carin' for the noddin' hollyhocks, 
I've come to the conclusion that perhaps in Heaven I 

may 
Get a chance to know the pleasures that I'm yearnin' 

for today; 
An' I'm goin' to ask the good Lord, when I've climbed 

the golden stair, 
If he'll kindly let me tinker 'round the home we've got 

up there. 



CD 



Not Crossing Bridges 

EBBE I shall weep tomorrow, 
Mebbe I shall lose my job, 
Mebbe bowed in grief and sorrow 
I shall sit alone and sob. 



Mebbe trouble grim is comin', 
Mebbe care is on the way, 

Mebbe I'll be busy glummin' 

Over things some other day. 

Mebbe foes will come assailin' 
An' at last I'll have to quit; 

But before I start to wailin' 
I shall wait until I'm hit. 



93 



Little Marie 

X REMEMBER the day that you came to me, 
Little Marie, 
The nurse brought you out so that I might 
see 
Little Marie. 
Oh, this heart o' mine leapt as I gazed at you 
And got my first peep at those eyes o' blue. 
And I kissed your cheek and I hugged you, too. 
Little Marie. 

I remember the very first word you spake. 

Little Marie, 
The very first steps that you tried to take, 

Little Marie; 
I remember the very first bump you got 
And you came to me and I kissed the spot; 
Of your bumps and bruises I've cured a lot. 

Little Marie. 

The birds in the tree still sing your name. 

Little Marie; 
The roses somehow aren't quite the same, 

Little Marie; 
And there isn't a nook in the home or yard 
But what like my battered old heart you've scarred; 
And we miss you so, and it's oh, so hard! 

Little Marie. 

You smiled when I said I was losing j'^ou. 

Little Marie; 
You said you'd come back in a year or two. 

Little Marie; 
And your mother prays, and I say amen. 
That we'll be grandpa and grandma then. 
And you will place in our arms again 

A little Marie. 



94 



CD 



Father's Chore 

[Y Pa can hit his thumb nail with a hammer 
and keep still, 
He can cut himself while shaving an' not 
swear ; 
If a ladder slips beneath him an' he gets a nasty spill 

He can smile as though he really didn't care. 
But the pan beneath the ice box — when he goes to 
empty that — 
Then a sound-proof room the children have to 
hunt, 
For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant 
flat 
When the water in it splashes down his front. 

My Pa believes his temper should be all the time con- 
trolled, 
He doesn't rave at every little thing, 
When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has 
rolled 
A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing. 
But the pan beneath the ice box — when to empty that 
he goes — 
As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt, 
From the kitchen comes a rumble, an' then everybody 
knows 
That he's splashed the water in it down his front. 

Now the distance from the ice box to the sink's not 
very far, 
I'm sure it isn't over twenty feet. 
But though very short the journey, it is long enough 
for Pa 
As he travels it disaster grim to meet. 
And it's seldom that he makes it without accident, 
although 
In the summer time it is his nightly stunt; 
And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should 
know 
When the water in it splashes down his front. 



95 



Real Lessons 

^^^HESE are the lessons I would learn, 
1) Not how to climb above all men, 
^^■^ Not how the greatest sums to earn, 

Not how to wield a master pen; 
But I would learn how I can be 

A little kinder than before, 
How I can live more patiently 

And help my friends a little more. 

And I would learn to better show 

My gratitude for favors had, 
To see more of the good below 

And less of what I think is bad. 
To live not always in the day 

To come, and count the joys to be. 
But to remember, as I stray, 

The past and what it brought to me. 

To judge my life, not from today. 

Nor what tomorrow it may mean. 
But from each footstep of the way 

And from each pleasure that has been, 
Remembering in each present woe 

The love and laughter I have known; 
And to be grateful as I go, 

For joys that once I called my own. 

These are lessons I would learn: 

To be as brave in grief and care 
As I am when it is my turn 

To tread the road where all is fair. 
More grateful I would learn to be 

For what has been, as on I tread, 
And to press forward cheerfully . 

Content to face what lies ahead. 



96 



One-Sided Faith 

XKNOW the rose will bloom again 
As soon as it is June, 
The robin will return by then 
To sing his merry tune. 
I know the wintry cold will pass, 

The gray clouds change to blue, 
But I think my present woe, alas! 
Must last my whole life through. 

I view my little garden bare 

And smile from day to day, 
I know the green will glisten there 

As soon as it is May. 
I face the winter, brave of heart, 

I know that it will go, 
But every little ache and smart 

Sets me to grieving so. 

If I can view the winter's snow. 

My garden desolate 
And smile, because right well I know 

If I will only wait 
The days of spring will soon return, 

And bring me back the rose. 
Have I not wit enough to learn 

That time will cure my woes? 



97 




The Thumbed Collar 

"i^^O up and change your collar," mother often 
says to me, 
**For you can't go out in that one, it's as 
dirty as can be. 
There are splotches on the surface where they very 
plainly show." 
"That is very queer," I answer, "it was clean an 
hour ago." 
But I guess just what has happened, and in this it's 

clearly summed: 
He who lets a baby love him often gets his collar 
thumbed. 

I've been dressed up for a dinner, in a shirt of snowy 

white. 
And I've stooped to kiss the rascal, and his arms have 

held me tight; 
I have clasped him to my bosom as he gooed and 

gurgled, then 
I have found it necessary that I change my shirt 

again. 
For the snowy, spotless surface, with some sticky 

sweet was gummed. 
He who lets a baby love him often gets his linen 

thumbed. 

I have gone downtown o' mornings thinking I was 

clean and neat, 
And have had some kind friend stop me as I walked 

along the street 
With the startling information that I wore a collar 

soiled. 
As he saw the prints and traces where those little 

thumbs had toiled ; 
And I've made this explanation — it's a song I long 

have hummed — 
He v/ho loves a little baby often get his collar 

thumbed. 



98 



And I'm rather proud I reckon, to have people here 

allude 
To the prints upon my collars; they're my badge of 

servitude. 
They're the proudest marks I carry, and I really 

dread the day 
When there'll be no sticky fingers, when I start to go 

away, 
To reach up and soil my neckwear; and my heart 

sometimes is numbed 
When I think the day is coming when my collars 

won't be thumbed. 



fi 



Fame 

AME is a fickle jade at best, 

And he who seeks to win her smile 
Must trudge, disdaining play or rest, 
O'er many a long and weary mile. 



Nor must he work alone for her, 
Nor labor only for her cheers, 

For doing this, it may occur 

That he shall only reap her sneers. 

But when he's ceased to care for self, 
And is content to work and wait 

For something better far than pelf. 

Fame welcomes him among the great. 



99 



Envy 



IVE me a little girl of three, 
A boy of four or five, 
And you can bet that I will be 
The gladdest man aliVe. 
I envy no rich man his gold, 
Or motor car that skids, 
But green with envy I behold 

The poor man's bunch of kids. 

Give me a boy of eight or nine, 

A girl of six or seven 
And I would count this world as fine 

And very close to Heaven. 
I envy no man's fame today, 

For that I make no bids. 
But envying, I go my way, 

The poor man's bunch of kids. 

With such a troop to follow me 

And romp about my feet, 
To climb at night upon my knee, 

I'd count life's struggle sweet. 
I envy none who's trouble free, 

But till death shuts my lids 
With envy I shall always see 

The poor man's bunch of kids. 



100 



Memorial Day 

^^:;^HERE are new graves for our roses 
1^) In God's acres where we stand, 
^^^ And each passing year discloses 

Thinner ranks in each command. 
There are eyes still red with weeping, 

There are heart aches that are new 
For the absent heroes keeping 

Step with God's command in blue. 

Eyes that saw the smoke of battle 

Now are closing every day; 
Ears that heard the muskets rattle 

Now are deaf to all we say. 
Lips that used to tell the story 

Have been silenced, and we strew 
On their graves the blooms of glory, 

Roses drenched with love and dew. 

From the earthly ranks they're falling, 

Snow -crowned heroes, one by one; 
*Tis the Great Commander calling, 

And their souls are marching on. 
And the day is swiftly coming 

When our heroes all will march 
To the sound of angel drumming. 

Under God's triumphal arch. 

They are going, quickly going, 

To the heavenly camps above, 
But each rose today is showing 

They will always live in love. 
And where liberty is treasured 

And the flag of freedom waves, 
With a love that is unmeasured 

Men will decorate their graves. 



101 




Warning the Carpenter 

fAY, Mister Carpenter, you know, you got me 
spanked last night, 
I guess your Pa and Ma forgot to teach you 
what was right; 
An' I can't come here any more to watch you build 

that fence, 
Coz my Pa says a man like you ain't got a bit of sense. 
You 'member yesterday, when you was nailing up a 

board 
An' hit your thumb an awful whack the drefful things 

you swored. 
Well, I felt sorry for you then, coz I am only three, 
An' I supposed 'at what you said would be all right 
for me. 

Las' night I was a-playin' wif my hammer an' a box 
An' hit my thumb jus' like you did two terrible hard 

knocks ; 
My Ma an' Pa were standing near, an' bofe of 'em 

turned red 
When I let loose an' said out loud the drefful things 

you said. 
You never told me it was wrong ; it seemed to comfort 

you. 
An' when I hit my thumb I s'posed it was all right 

to do. 
But you will never get to be an angel when you die 
Becoz you used such wicked words an' let your temper 

fly. 

My Pa, he took me on his knee an' spanked me for 

it, too. 
An' Ma, she jus' sat down an' cried the whole long 

evenin' through; 
She says there ought to be a law to keep bad men away 
From decent neighborhoods like ours where little 

children play. 
You let me get a wallopin'. An' I don't think it fair, 
Say ! Ain't you got no Pa an' Ma to teach you not to 

swear? 



102 



It's all your fault that I got licked, an' Ma says when 

you die 
There ain't a-goin' to be no place for you up in the sky; 
An' Pa says 'at you ought to know 'at little fellow's 

ears 
Pick up the things that bad men say. An' if he ever 

hears 
That I've been hangin' round this place he don't know 

what he'll do; 
I guess he'll tell your Pa an' Ma, an' you'll get 

walloped, too. 



A Song 

Y^OUGH be the road and long, 
l^f Steep be the hills ahead. 

Grant that my faith be strong, 
Fearlessly let me tread. 
After the day's hard test 
Home — with its peaceful rest. 

Heavy my burdens be, 

Let me not falter though, 

Soon I shall come to see 

Home, where the roses grow. 

Home, where the swallows nest, 

Home, with its peaceful rest. 

This grant to me at last. 

When I have ceased to roam, 

When all my cares are past, 
I may be welcomed home. 

Home, where is none distressed, 

Home, with its peaceful rest. 



103 



The First Rule of Golf 

(In which Ye Ed attempts the millionaire's game and obeys the 
first rule of golf , which is to put back the turf.) 

^y^E stood at the tee and the driver we swung, 
r 1 1 Then we put back the turf; 

^•^^ At the ball, then a thing called the 
"mashie," we flung, 
Then we put back the turf. 
"There's a fine mid-iron shot I am sure you can do," 
Said a friend, *'you should get on the green then in 

two;" 
We tried it, then painted the atmosphere blue 
And put back the turf. 

We tried for a shot o'er a bunker ahead, 

Then we put back the turf; 
We attempted to loft, but the ball remained dead. 

Then we put back the turf. 
We tackled the niblick, the putter, the cleek. 
They went through the air with a whistle and shriek. 
And our manner was humble and abject and meek 
As we put back the turf. 

We posed, a la Travers, and let the club go, 

Then we put back the turf; 
The pellet was nicely addressed for a blow, 

Then we put back the turf; 
Out there on the links with the sun shining warm 
To watch us the spectators came in a swarm. 
And they freely rem.arked on our wonderful form 
As we put back the turf. 

At the first, second, third, fourth and fifth holes men 
see 

Where we put back the turf; 
From the fifth to the ninth it's as plain as can be 

Where we put back the turf. 
And we answered when asked, as we sat at a meal, 
Our honest opinion of golf to reveal: 
**It's great, but it's terribly hard on the heel 
When you put back the turf." 

104 



*Erbert's H'opinion 

n'lF a Yankee cutthroat *acks 'is poor h'old 
mother, 
H'it tykes a year to pack 'im h'off to jyle; 
'E can h'always dig h'up some h'excuse or h'other 

To keep your justice creepin' like a snyle. 
But h'in H'England, h'if a bloke gets h'into trouble, 

To the pen h'in 'arf a jiffy 'e will roam; 
H'if 'e mykes a fight 'is punishment will double, 
We do things so much better h'over 'ome. 

H'if a bloomin' Yankee starts to build a dwelling 

'E slaps h'it h'up without a bit h'of care, 
In 'arf the time h'it tykes me in the telling, 

'E 'as the chimney pot h'up in the h'air. 
But h'in H'England 'ouses h'always larst forever. 

We build 'em right, from cellar h'up to dome; 
H'although you bloomin' Yankees think you're 
clever, 
We do things so much better h'over 'ome. 

'Ere h'its always 'elter-skelter, rush and bustle, 

H'and h'its pell-mell h'into h'everything you 
do; 
You h'even teach your children 'ow to 'ustle 

Your meals you never tyke the time to chew. 
But h'in H'England, when h'it's tea time, we stop 

working, 
H'an, H'l wish that H'l was back h'across the 

foam, 
H'in me 'ead the notion still h'is plynely lurking, 

We do things so much better h'over 'ome. 



105 




The Fun of Forgiving 

fOMETIMES I'm almost glad to hear when I 
get home that they've been bad, 
And though I try to look severe, within my 
heart I'm really glad 
When mother sadly tells to me the list of awful things 

they've done, 
Because when they come tearfully, forgiving them is 
so much fun. 

I like to have them all alone, with no one near to hear 

or see, 
Then as their little faults they own, I like to take them 

on my knee 
And talk it over and pretend the whipping soon must 

be begun; 
And then to kiss them at the end — forgiving them is so 

much fun. 

Within the world there's no such charms, as children 

penitent and sad. 
Who put two soft and chubby arms around your neck 

when they've been bad. 
And as you view their trembling lips, away your 

temper starts to run. 
And from your mind all anger slips — forgiving them 

is so much fun. 

If there w^ere nothing to forgive, I wonder if we'd love 

them so. 
If they were wise enough to live as grown-ups do, and 

ever go 
Along the pleasant path of right, with ne'er a fault 

from sun to sun, 
A lot of joys we'd miss at night — forgiving them is so 

much fun. 



106 



® 



A Choice 

kATHER win a brother's smile 
Than a stack of dollar notes, 
Rather do one thing worth while 
Than have all the nation's votes; 
Rather tread the simple way 

Where the sweet wild roses are 
Than to dress in glad array 

And be prince or king or czar. 

Somehow, when I sum it up, 

I would rather be a friend 
Than by force snatch vict'ry's cup 

And be hated in the end. 
I would rather leave behind 

Tender gentle thoughts of me 
Than have those who follow find 

Stains upon my memory. 

Rather do the simple things, 

Rather play a lowly part 
Than to win the praise of kings 

And be cold and hard of heart. 
I would rather fail to be 

Rich or famous on the earth, 
Rather dwell in poverty 

If my deeds will tell my worth. 

Rather feel a brother's hand 

Clasped in mine, as friendship's vow 
Than in pomp and pride to stand 

With a crown upon my brow. 
Rather have one find me true 

Than have thousands call me great 
And despise the things I do, 

Turning from me in their hate. 



107 



The Value of a Telephone 

HAST night we had a hurry call to go to daughter 
May, 
Her husband said that Ma and me were 
wanted right away, 
An' so, though it was after 12, an' bitter cold outside. 
We hustled out of bed an' dressed an' took a trolley 

ride ; 
An' Jim — that is her husband — met us with a gracious 

bow 
An' said to me as we stepped in: "Well, you're a 
grandpa now." 

An' Ma went flyin' up the stairs, an' Jim an* I stayed 

down. 
An' talked about the great event, Jim in his dressin' 

gown. 
As comfortable as you please. An' then he sorter 

smiled 
An' said: "An hour or two ago I thought that I'd 

go wild. 
The stork was hoverin' above, an' I was all alone, 
I'll tell you. Dad, I burned the wires of that old 

telephone. 

"I telephoned the doctor an' I telephoned the nurse. 

An' I'm sure the sort of service that I got could not 
be worse; 

I telephoned the druggist, an' I 'phoned the neigh- 
bors, too, 

An' then when I was through with them, I telephoned 
to you. 

Each minute seemed an hour to me ; I thought they'd 
never come, 

You bet I was a busy boy. I made the old wires hum." 

An' then I laughed an' said to him: "Why, when 

your wife was born, 
We didn't have a telephone the neighbors 'round to 

warn ; 



108 



They got me out of bed at 1 a. m. an' said to me: 
*You'd better get the doctor now, an' get him here 

at 3.' 
I had to run four miles that night to bang upon his 

door, 
An' then to get the nurse I had to hike about two 

more. 

"That isn't all the hikin' that the women made me do; 
I had to get her mother's folks — the same as she made 

you; 
There were no trolley cars back then, at least that 

late at night; 
I ran four stitches in my side, and finished ten pounds 

light; 
I walked an' did a double trot, a gallop and a pace, 
An' I didn't even stop to wipe the sweat beads from 

my face. 

"An' here you're in your dressin' gown, an' sittin' by 
the fire, 
An' everybody's on the job, all summoned by the 

wire. 
You haven't even left your house or felt the winter's 

chill- 
Just think, my boy, without a 'phone, why, you'd be 

running still! 
You'd still be hiking somewhere an' wearing out your 

shoes, 
An' pausin' for your second wind — that's how I 

spread the news!" 



109 



(D 



The Sympathetic Minister 

[Y father is a peaceful man, 
He tries in every way he can 
To live a life of gentleness 

And patience all the while; 

He says that needless fretting's vain, 

That it's absurd to be profane. 

That nearly every wrong can be 

Adjusted with a smile. 

Yet try no matter how he will, 

There's one thing that annoys him still. 

One thing that robs him of his calm 

And makes him very sore; 

He cannot keep his self-control 

When with a shovel full of coal 

He misses where it's headed for, 

And hits the furnace door. 

He measures with a careful eye. 

The space for which he's soon to try, 

Then grabs his trusty shovel up 

And loads it in the bin. 

Then turns and with a healthy lunge, 

That's two parts swing and two parts plunge 

He lets go at the furnace fire. 

Convinced it will go in! 

And then we hear a sudden smack. 

The cellar air turns blue and black; 

Above the rattle of the coal 

We hear his awful roar. 

From dreadful language upward hissed 

We know that father's aim has missed 

And that his shovel full of coal 

Went up against the door. 

The minister was here one day 
For supper, and Pa went away 
To fix the furnace fire, and soon 
We heard that awful roar. 



110 



And through the furnace pipes there came 

Hot words that made Ma blush for shame, 
**It strikes me," said the minister, 
**He hit the furnace door." 

Ma turned away and hung her head, 
**I'm so ashamed," was all she said; 

And then the minister replied: 
"Don't worry. I admit 

That when I hit the furnace door 

And spill the coal upon the floor, 

I quite forget the cloth I wear 

And — er — swear a little bit." 



n 



Hope 

OPE sings of tomorrow, 

When trouble rules today; 
Bowed down tonight in sorrow 
The morning may be gay. 



Hope looks forward ever 
And sings of joys to be, 

For trouble's grip is never 
On us eternally. 

Today though trouble lingers 
And every hour is glum, 

Hope points with rosy fingers 
To joys that are to come. 



Ill 




Friends 

[OST every day 
I find my way 
Made smoother, 
Brighter, by a friend; 
Some kindly word 
My heart has stirred 
And caused my 
Spirits to ascend. 

A handclasp here, 
A smile sincere, 
A kindly deed 
In friendship done 
Have made me feel 
That life is real 
And I have gladly 
Journeyed on. 

Where'er I turn 
'Tis but to learn 
The sweetness of 
The heart of man, 
For everywhere 
Are friends, I swear. 
Who smooth my path 
Where'er they can. 

There is no day 
Howe'er so gray 
But what some friend 
With cheerful voice 
Is glad to share 
My bit of care 
And give me 
Reason to rejoice. 



112 



Welcoming the New Year 

At 10 p. m. 

GOME, let us make merry with innocent mirth, 
Let us drink to the year that is dying; 
Let us wish one another the best that's on 
earth. 
Now quickly, the moments are flying. 
Here waiter! Come, fill up the glasses again, 

Tonight we are here to be merry, 
Forgot are the grief and the trouble and pain 
That the old fellow brought in his ferry. 
Nothing boisterous here, as we chat and we drink 

At the table we've rented for folly. 
But in friendship this evening our glasses we clink. 
To welcome the year and be jolly. 

At 11 p. m. 
Some old-fashioned folks stay at home to be gay 

Where ther'sh never an orchestra playing, 
But I like the thrill of a modern cafe, 

I believe in all customs obeying. 
Then here's to ush all at the table tonight. 

May the New Year bring nothing but gladness, 
And cheeks that are rosy and eyes that are bright, 

And may we know none of its badness. 
Now, waiter, just fill up thoshe glasses again, 

May you never know sad melancholy, 
May the year that is coming bring you little rain. 

May you always succeed and be jolly. 

At 12 m. 
Ish a Happy New Year! May you alwaysh be gay ! 

Whoopee ! for zhe New Year (hie) arriving ; 
Do youshe fellersh know what I'm trying to sha? 

Do youshe get (hie) at what I am driving? 
Ish all right now fellersh, lesh fill up zhe glass, 

(Hie) I like yesh and I want t' show it. 
Yesh mighty fine fellersh. (Hie) Yesh all first class 

V And I want zhe New Year to know it. 
Hersh a happy New Year. Whoopee for yesh all! 

May yesh never go wrong with yersh folly, 
May long be yersh daysh on thish tresh-shiul ball 

And may every shecund be jolly. 

113 



When Mother Made Angel Cake 

Vr^HEN mother baked an angel cake we kids 

V I y would gather round 

^*^^ An' watch her gentle hands at work, an' 

never make a sound; 
We'd watch her stir the eggs an' flour an' powdered 

sugar, too, 
An' pour it in the crinkled tin, an' then when it was 

through 
She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon 
That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would 

get the spoon. 

It seemed no matter where we were, those mornings, 

at our play. 
Upstairs or out of doors somewhere, we all knew right 

away 
When Ma was in the kitchen, an' was gettin' out the 

tin 
An' things to make an angel cake, an' so we scampered 

in. 
An' Ma would smile at us an' say: "Now you keep 

still an' wait 
An' when I'm through I'll let you lick the spoon an' 

icing plate." 

We watched her kneel beside the stove, an' put her 

arm so white 
Inside the oven just to find if it was heatin' right. 
An' mouths an' eyes were open then, becoz we always 

knew 
The time for us to get our taste was quickly comin' due. 
Then while she mixed the icing up, she'd hum a simple 

tune. 
An' one of us would bar the plate, an' one would bar 

the spoon. 

Could we catch a glimpse of Heaven, and some snow- 
white kitchen there, 

I'm sure that we'd see mother, smiling now, and still 
as fair; 



114 



And I know that gathered round her we should see an 

angel brood 
That is watching every movement as she makes an 

angel food; 
For I know that little angels, as we used to do, await 
The moment when she lets them lick the icing spoon 

and plate. 



War 

CHE thrill of war's a base deceit, 
The rattle of the drum's a lie ; 
It lures brave men with scurrying feet 
To go where many dangers fly; 
It sings a soldier's death is sweet, 
It tells how great it is to die. 

And yet no death can splendid be 

That's caused by selfishness and pride; 

The weeping widow ! Does not she 
Long for the husband at her side? 

Can any selfish victory 

Restore the loved one that has died? 

To die for others may be fine. 

But not to die for others' gain; 

The thin and faltering battle line, 

The dead men on the bloody plain 

Are seldom there by God's design; 

Some human soul must wear the stain. 

Murder in uniform, is war. 

Exalted only by a thrill; 
And how long must it be before 

' Men will not blindly rush to kill? 
How many generations more 

Before the cannon's voice is still? 



115 



A Boy at Christmas 

XF I could have my wish tonight, it would not 
be for wealth or fame, 
It would not be for some delight that men 
who live in luxury claim; 
But it would be that I might rise at three or four 

a. m. to see, 
With eager, happy, boyish eyes, my presents on the 

Christmas tree. 
Throughout this world there is no joy, I know now 

I am growing gray. 
So rich as being just a boy, a little boy on Christmas 
Day. 

I'd like once more to stand and gaze enraptured on a 

tinseled tree. 
With eyes that know just how to blaze, a heart still 

tuned to ecstasy; 
I'd like to feel the old delight, the surging thrills within 

me come; 
To love a thing with all my might, to grasp the 

pleasure of a drum ; 
To know the meaning of a toy — a meaning lost to 

minds blase; 
To be just once again a boy, a little boy on Christmas 

Day. 

I'd like to see a pair of skates the way they looked to 

me back then. 
Before I'd turned from boyhood's gates and marched 

into the world of men ; 
I'd like to see a jackknife, too, with those same eager, 

dancing eyes 
That couldn't fault or blemish view; I'd like to feel 

the same surprise, 
The pleasure, free from all alloy, that has forever 

passed away. 
When I was just a little boy and had my faith in 

Christmas Day. 



116 



Oh, little, laughing, roguish lad! the king that rules 
across the sea 

Would give his scepter if he had such joy as now 
belongs to thee! 

And beards of gray would give their gold and all the 
honors they possess 

Once more within their grasp to hold thy present fee 
of happiness. 

Earth sends no greater, surer joy, as, too soon, thou, 
as I, shall say. 

Than that of his who is a boy, a little boy on Christ- 
mas Day. 



The Change 

/^^fHE'S married to him now, and so 
J^y She doesn't think it worth her while 

To put herself out much to show 
Her charming ways or pleasant smile. 

She doesn't dress to please him now. 
Nor try to gratify each whim ; 

She's married to him anyhow. 

There is no need to fuss for him. 

Time was she always looked her best 
And did her best to please him, too ; 

Her voice was of the cheeriest, 

Her whimperings were very few. 

She doesn't dress for him today, 

His likes she pays but little heed to. 

It makes no difference, anyway, 

She's married, and she doesn't need to. 



117 



The Road Builder 

XDO not care for garments fine, 
I do not care for medals bright; 
I have no wish to quench with wine 
My thirst when I go home at night. 
I'm satisfied with work to do, 

And I'm content to bear my load 
If only I can carve and hew 

For those I love a better road. 

I have no wish for luxury 

If I must live it all alone ; 
Nor do I toil that I may be 

By many strangers better known. 
If I were here to toil for self 

I'd have a very simple code. 
And I'd need very little pelf — 

But I'm the builder of a road. 

I'm on this earth to pioneer 

For those who follow after me, 
According to my service here 

Their chance for splendid life will be. 
Into the future I must tread 

Nor whimper at the present goad; 
'Tis mine to blaze the path ahead, 

I am the builder of a road. 

I dare not shirk what task I find, 

I dare not falsely step aside. 
Nor leave the tangled brush behind. 

My pathway must be clear and wide. 
For they will tread the way I go. 

They'll come to reap the seed I sowed 
When I am sleeping 'neath the snow, 

I am the builder of a road. 

It is for them I face the front 

And strive to keep my pathway straight. 



118 



It is for them I bear the brunt 
Of selfishness and bitter hate. 

That they may know a smoother way, 
That they may bear a Hghter load, 

I, smiling, face the heat of day — 
I am the builder of a road. 



The March o' Man 

OOWN to work o' mornings, an' back to home 
at nights, 
Down to hours o' labor, an' home to sweet 
delights ; 
Down to care an' trouble, an' home to love an' rest. 
With every day a good one, an' every evening blest. 

Down to dreary dollars, an' back to home to play, 
From love to work an' back to love, so slips the day 

away ; 
From babies back to business an' back to babes again, 
From parting kiss to welcome kiss, this marks the 

march o' men. 

Some care between our laughter, a few hours filled 

with strife, 
A time to stand on duty, then home to babes and wife; 
The bugle sounds o' mornings to call us to the fray. 
But sweet an' low 'tis love that calls us home at close 

of day. 



119 



The Lanes of Apple Bloom 

OOWN the lanes of apple bloom, we are treading 
once again, 
Down the pathways rosy red trip the 
women-folk and men. 
Love and laughter lead us on, light of heart as children 

gay, 
June is smiling on us now, bidding us to romp and play. 

Sun-kissed now are maiden's curls, bare of head the 

children run. 
Love and laughter call us home when the long day's 

toil is done; 
All our cares are borne away on the breezes, perfume 

sweet, 
Down the lanes of apple bloom now we dance with 

flying feet. 

Through the open door once more comes the pleasant 

breath of June, 
Through the open windows now lullabies that mothers 

croon. 
Caught upon the evening breeze, reach the toilers 

homeward bound; 
Love and laughter rule the world, happiness once more 

is found. 

Down the lanes of apple bloom gray-tressed age goes 

walking now 
Minding less the weight of years or the wrinkles in 

its brow. 
'Tis the evening hour of life, gloriously calm and sweet 
June is dwelling in the heart ! June is guiding weary 

feet. 



120 



The Little Chap 

OO you know why men dig ditches 
And why others till the soil? 
Do you know why men seek riches, 
And each morn go out to toil? 
It's because at home there's waiting 

Till the busy day is through 
Some such sunny, captivating 
Little fellow just like you. 

Do you know why one seeks money 

And another tries for fame? 
It's to pay for bread and honey 

For the tot that bears his name. 
Back of everything men tackle, 

Back of everything men do 
You will find the merry cackle 

Of a little chap like you. 

Men have, smiling, gone to battle, 

Men have mastered all their fears 
Just because their baby's prattle 

Still was ringing in their ears. 
And when all the fates were smiting 

They kept on with purpose true, 
Undiscouraged. They were fighting 

For a little chap like you. 

So that's why I care for money. 

Why I work the long day through; 
It's to pay for bread and honey 

For a little chap like you. 
Back of each goal I'm pursuing. 

Back of everything I do, 
Is the gurgling and the gooing 

Of a little chap like you. 



121 



My Proud Pa I 



X'SPOSE the big head bendin' over my crib 
Is my Pa. 
I 'spose that wiseacre whose talk is so glib 
Is my Pa. 
I've not been here long — my days are but three, 
But there's something that even a baby can see, 
An' the man who takes all of the credit for me 

Is my Pa. 

I 'spose that the man with the hat that won't fit 

Is my Pa. 
I 'spose that the fellow who thinks he is it 

Is my Pa. 
He's a little guy, too, but as proud as can be. 
An' the wonderful lady an' I both agree 
That the one who takes all of the credit for me 

Is my Pa. 

I 'spose that the man with that face-stretching grin 

Is my Pa. 
I 'spose that the short chap, so terribly thin 

Is my Pa. 
My Ma is that wonderful lady in white, 
Her voice is as sweet as an angel at night. 
Now I'm next to that proud little geezer, all right! 

He's my Pa. 



122 



The Women of the Sailors 

^^:^HE women of the sailors, unto them, O God, be 

l/J kind! 

^^^They never hear the breaking waves, they 

never hear the wind 
But that their hearts are anguish-tossed, and every 

thought's a fear, 
For the women of the sailors it's a bitter time of year. 

The women of the sailors, unto them, O God, be good! 
'Tis they who know and understand how frail are steel 

and wood; 
'Tis they who never see the spray upon a rock-bound 

coast 
But what they breathe a prayer to Thee for those 

that love them most. 

The women of the sailors, unto them, O God, be 

nigh! 
They never hear the hurricane but that it means a 

sigh; 
They never hear the tempest but that they pray to 

Thee 
For the safety of their loved ones who are battling with 

the sea. 



123 



Neglected 

I DON'T get much attention now, 
Although I'm not complaining; 
I'm forced to get on anyhow, 
Another king is reigning. 
She doesn't run to wait on me, 
However rushed I may be, 
Whene'er I need assistance, she 
Is busy with the baby. 

Time was my shirts were all laid out 

And all my duds were handy; 
And those were days, without a doubt, 

When things were fine and dandy; 
But now the time she gave to me 

She's giving to another, 
It keeps her busy just to be 

A fond and doting mother. 

Oh, I cut quite a figure then. 

To something I amounted; 
I stood above all other men. 

With her, I, only, counted. 
Then, often I was petted, too, 

And cheered when things went badly; 
But now another's come to woo 

And I'm neglected sadly. 

And now I come and go each day. 

Just merely tolerated; 
And often I am in the way. 

As she has plainly stated. 
My wants I'm forced to fill myself, 

However hard it may be; 
Oh, I've been put upon the shelf. 

And put there by a baby. 



124 



And yet upon that shelf I'd stay, 

And all complainings smother; 
The lad who took my wife away 

Has given me his mother. 
And every night I kneel and pray 

That never will the day be 
That I shall fail to hear her say: 

'Tm busy with the baby!'* 



X 



The Departed 

F no one ever went ahead, 

If we had seen no friend depart 
And mourned him for a while as dead, 
How great would be our fear to start. 



If no one for us led the way. 

No loved one, garbed in angel white 
Stood there, a welcome word to say, 

Then we should fear the Heavenly flight. 

If we should never say "good bye," 

Should never shed the parting tear. 

We'd face the journey to the sky 
In horrible despair and fear. 

It is because our friends have gone 
And left us in this vale of breath, 

Because of those who've journeyed on, 
That we can bravely smile at death. 



125 



A Greeting 

OLD friend o'mine, it's Christmas Day 
An' I am thinkin' of you 
An' hopin' that no patch of gray 
Will hide the blue above you. 
An' if I had the power to do 

The many things I yearn to, 
With joy I'd be surrounding you, 
And always when your work is through 
There'd be a kiss to turn to. 

You'd never know a single care 

To cause a minute's worry, 
There'd be no road you couldn't fare. 

An' do it in a hurry. 
I'd clip the thorns from every rose 

You get your fingers on to; 
An' warm would be each breeze that blows. 
An' each night rare with sweet repose. 

Could I do what I want to. 

An' when you sigh for coins of gold, 

I'd fill your purse with money. 
An' make each pathway where you strolled 

A bright one an' a sunny. 
To friend, I'd change each foe to you, 

The hand upraised to strike, to 
One stretched out in friendship true 
I'd turn, if this old heart could do 

The things 'twould really like to. 



126 



Service 

^w^E know not how we came to be 

r 1 1 Cast for the work that we are doing, 

^■^^ Why one should sail the stormy sea, 

And one the farmer's horse be shoeing. 
Why one should paint and one should write. 

Why one seem dull, another smart; 
We only know, both day and night. 

That each of us must play his part. 

He serves this world who digs the ditch 

As much as he who writes the novels; 
Life leans no more upon the rich 

Than on the men who dwell in hovels. 
What greatness is we cannot say, 

God only knows who meets the test; 
On earth it's but a part we play, 

And with it each must do his best. 




Not a Money Debt 

OU can't pay back in dollars what your father 
does for you, 
You can't repay in kindness all the tender- 
ness he shows; 
You little know the perils he has safely brought you 
through, 
And the wealth oif Rockefeller this account would 
never close. 

Just remember, as you travel, now alone upon your 
way 
That your only chance of squaring up the debt 
you owe your dad 
Is to strive with all your courage to grow better every 
day 
And become the man he dreamed of when you 
were a little lad. 



127 



Out at Pelletier's 

OUT at Pelletier's where the blooded pigeons > 
fly, 
An' the tony Shetland ponies romp and play, , 

Where the peacock on the fence rail hoots at motors ; 
chugging by 
An' the wolf hounds at the moon (in Russian) i 
bay; 
Where the poultry sort o' swaggers in its best blue- ■ 
ribbon style, 
An' the hogs wear silver buttons in their ears, 
It is comfortin' an' soothin' jes' to sit an' rest awhile, 
For it brushes back at least a dozen years. 

Out at Pelletier's — where old Monte Mark is king, I 

An' he knows it an' he shows it to 'em all, ^ 

Whether rompin' in the pasture, or in trappings for 
the ring. 

Or whinnyin' to greet you in his stall ; 
An' where Chief, the son of Monte, in a splendid coat : 
of bay 

Shows the heritage of vigor in his veins ; 
It is soothin' an' consolin' to be restin' for a day. 

An' forget the city's dismal grind for gains. 

It's a lesson in good breedin' — at the farm o* 
Pelletier's, 
It's a lesson in refinement an' in care; 
An' it sets a thinkin' feller sort o' thinkin' o' the 
years 
That are waitin' in the future over there. 
An' while he's sittin' restin' underneath the wal- 
nut tree, 
He is thinkin' thoughts perhaps he never speaks; 
What's he goin' to leave behind him when his spirit is ; 
set free? 
Is it money or perfection that he seeks? 

Is he strivin' here for dollars or a better human race, 
Just as Pelletier is doin' with his stock? 



128 



i 



Would he rather leave a brighter, clearer, smilin* 
boyish face 
Than his name upon a massive building rock? 
Is he buildin' here for soundness an' for cleanliness of 
heart? 
Is he breedin' here for happiness or tears? 
Oh, it's good for any feller just to take himself apart 
An' think the thoughts that come at Pelletier's. 



He Struck Me! 

nE struck me! 
A man I scarce knew, 'though he had 
my name, 
Came into my office repeating the same. 
And talked for a moment of this and of that; 
Remarked that he thought I was putting on fat; 
Referred to the weather, repeated a tale 
That I laughed at because 'twas exceedingly stale, 
And then when I said: **I am busy today, 
Whatever you've come for I wish you would say;'* 
He struck me. 

He struck me! 
He struck me without any reason at all, 
For a second I staggered and thought I should fall; 
This stranger who'd asked of the health of my wife, 
My cousins and aunts, and had picked up my knife 
To manicure nicely his finger nails, while 
He used up my time in his own breezy style; 
But I said: "Make it short. I am busy;" and then 

He struck me — 
Yes, boldly he struck me — for ten! 



129 



A Creed 

HEX me be a little kinder, 
Let me be a little blinder 
To the faults of those around me, 
Let me praise a little more; 
Let me be, when I am weary 
Just a little bit more cheery, 
Let me serve a little better 
Those that I am striving for. 

Let me be a little braver 

When temptation bids me waver. 

Let me strive a little harder 

To be all that I should be; 

Let me be a little meeker 

With the brother that is weaker. 

Let me think more of my neighbor 

And a little less of me. 

Let me be a little sweeter, 
Make my life a bit completer 
By doing what I should do 
Every minute of the day ; 
Let me toil, without complaining, 
Not a humble task disdaining, 
Let me face the summons calmly 
When death beckons me away. 



130 



A Friend's Greeting 

DIAMONDS wouldn't tell yer all I really think 
of you, 
The costliest gift the goldsmith makes I'm 
sure would never do. 
There's nothing known that gold can buy that I could 

ever send 
That could explain how glad I am to have yer fer a 
friend. 

If I had all the wealth of earth and what I like could 

get 
And I should send it on to you, I'd still be in your debt, 
And still the heart o' me would cry: ''That ain't 

enough t' do 
Fer one whose smiles an' kindly words have meant so 

much t' you." 

It's Christmas time, an' here I am, a-wishin' all that's 

good 
Fer you an' yours. A patch o' blue above your 

neighborhood. 
The bloom o' health forever on the cheeks o' those you 

love. 
An' future years t' bring the joys that now you're 

dreamin' of. 

'God bless yer!" That expresses it in simple words 

an' true, 
It's what the heart o' me would say if it could speak 

t' you. 
May every day be Christmas Day until your journey's 

end. 
Is jus' the simple wish of one who's glad you call him 

friend. 



131 



The Lost Purse 

X REMEMBER the excitement and the terrible 
alarm 
That worried everybody when William broke 
his arm; 
An' how frantic Pa and Ma got only jes' the other day 
When they couldn't find the baby coz he'd up an' 

walked away. 
But I'm sure there's no excitement that our house 

has ever shook 
Like the times Ma can't remember where she's put her 
pocketbook. 

When the laundry man is standin' at the door an' 

wants his pay 
Ma hurries in to get it, an' the fun starts right away. 
She hustles to the sideboard coz she's knows exactly 

where 
She can put her hand right on it, but alas! it isn't 

there. 
She tries the parlor table an' she goes upstairs to look, 
An' once more she can't remember where she put her 

pocketbook. 

She tells us that she had it just a half an hour ago, 
An' now she cannot find it though she's hunted high 

and low; 
She's searched the kitchen cupboard an' the bureau 

drawers upstairs, 
An' it's not behind the sofa nor beneath the parlor 

chairs. 
She makes us kids get busy searching every little nook. 
An' this time says she's certain that she's lost her 

pocketbook. 

She calls Pa at the office an' he laughs I guess, for then 
She always mumbles something 'bout the heartless- 

ness of men. 
She calls to mind a peddler who came to the kitchen 

door 
An' she's certain from his whiskers an' the shabby 

clothes he wore 

132 



An' his dirty shirt an' collar that he must have been 

a crook, 
An' she's positive that feller came an' got her 

pocketbook. 

But at last she alius finds it in some queer an' funny 

spot, 
Where she'd put it in a hurrj'', an' had somehow clean 

forgot ; 
An' she heaves a sigh of gladness, an' she says, **Well, 

I declare, 
I would take an oath this minute that I never put it 

there." 
An' we're peaceable an' quiet till next time Ma goes 

to look 
An' finds she can't remember where she put her 

pocketbook. 




The Monument of Kindness 

[E do not build our monuments in stone, 
The records of our life aren't cast in 
steel ; 
We are forgot, if when the spirit's flown 

No human hearts our finger prints reveal. 

If we have lived and died and left behind 

No more than gold and lands that once were ours, 

No trace of having served our fellow kind 

Then wasted were our talents and our powers. 

But if when we have gone our impress stays 

On human hearts, whate'er has been our lot, 

We need no marble shafts to mark our ways. 
We shall live on, nor ever be forgot. 



133 



Old-Fashioned Folks 

OLD-FASHIONED folks! God bless 
'email! 
The fathers an' the mothers, 
The aunts an' uncles, fat an' tall. 
The sisters an' the brothers. 
The good old-fashioned neighbors, too. 

The passing time improves 'em, 
They still drop in to chat with you 
Whene'er the spirit moves 'em. 
The simple, unaffected folks 

With gentle ways an' sunny. 
The brave an' true 
That live life through 
An' stay unspoiled by money. 

Old-fashioned folks, of soHd worth, 

On them a benediction! 
The joy an' comfort of the earth, 

Its strength, without restriction. 
The charm of every neighborhood. 

The toilers uncomplaining. 
The men an' women, pure an' good. 

Of fine an' honest graining. 
The plain an' open-hearted folks 

That make no fad a passion. 
The kind an' fair 
That do an' dare 

An' are not slaves to fashion. 

Old-fashioned folks, that live an' love 

An' give their service gladly. 
An' deem their neighbors worthy of 

Their help when things go badly. 
The simple sharers of our joys. 

Sweet ministers in sorrow, 
They help the world to keep its poise 

An' strength for each tomorrow. 



134 



The simple, unaffected folks, 
That live for all about 'em, 

God bless 'em all, 

This earthly ball 
Would dreary be without 'em. 



Strange 

nE thought that he'd be happy if a fortune he 
could make, 
If he were rich he thought that he'd be gay. 
He often thought it would be nice an ocean trip to take 
Whenever he desired to go away. 

He thought he'd be contented if he owned a motor car 
And had the price to pay for gasoline; 

He thought he'd like it to afford a fifty-cent cigar 
And spend his time a-golfing on the green. 

He used to say that he'd be glad if he could ever wear 
The latest styles as soon as they appear. 

He had a notion that if he were but a millionaire 
His life would be one constant round of cheer. 

He fell into a fortune. Now a millionaire is he, 
The luxuries he yearned for all are his; 

But is he quite as happy as he thought he'd really be? 
Well, judging from appearances, he is. 



135 



Queer Ebenezer 

^^^HE strangest man I ever knew 
C^ Is Ebenezer Pettigrew; 
^^^ Dropped in on him last night t' chat 
Of politics an' this an' that, 
An' when he'd showed me to a seat 
He brung some apples in t' eat, 
An' tuk one up, an' stroked its side 
An' fondled it t' show his pride. 
Says I t' him: "It's plain t' me 
Thet things ain't what they orter be; 
Men ain't as honest as they wuz. 
Vice profits more'n virtue does. 
The weak are downtrod by the strong, 
The whole world's overrun by wrong." 
An' then I showed him facts t' prove 
Thet we air gettin' in a groove 
O' wickedness, an' steeped in sin, 
But all he did wuz work his chin 
A-chewin' on his apple core 
An' lookin' at his parlor floor, 
An' then, says he, right slow t' me: 
"Some things ain't what they orter be, 
But still I ain't inclined to pine, 
Apples this year air mighty fine." 

He tuk another pippin then 
An' started in t' chew again. 
"Now Eb," says I, "Ye've got t' say 
Thet we air in a dreadful way; 
Thet life is full o' pain an' woe. 
An' rough air roads thet we must go. 
The iron heels of lust and greed 
Air on our necks, an' if you read 
The papers nowadays, you'll note 
Thet rumors dreadful air afloat; 
Our judges ain't exactly just 
In matters that afl'ect a trust." 
I put it to him good an' strong, 



136 



Expectin' that he'd come erlong 
An' jine with me by nod or sign, 
But nary nod or move t' jine 
He made, but turnin' in his chair 
An' reachin' fer the table, where 
An old brown pitcher stood, says he: 
"Come on an' have a drink with me; 
I ain't denyin' what you say. 
It mebbe things air thataway. 
But here's yer glass, now ain't that clear? 
The cider's mighty fine this year." 




A Song 

;EEP the heart laughin' in spite o' the tears. 
Keep the heart youthful in spite o' the years, 
Keep your faith shinin' in spite o' the night 
That comes down with sorrows, and you'll be all right. 

Keep the hand steady, and keep the hand true. 
Keep your work blameless whatever you do; 
Keep your life clean, as you wander along. 
An' no matter what happens you cannot go wrong. 

Knee deep in sorrow, an' knee deep in care. 
Still keep on hopin' an' whisper your prayer; 
Keep your faith shinin' an' tread on your way. 
An' peace an' contentment will find you some day. 



137 



A Discussion 

/JSSHE put her arms about my neck, 

W^l And whispered low to me: 

^*^-^ "I'm thinking daddy, dear, how nice 

And lovely it would be 
If only every little girl 

In all this wide world through 
Had daddies that were just as nice 

And kind and good as you.*' 

And then I took her in my arms 

And held her on my knee 
And said: *' A nicer, brighter world 

I'm sure that it would be 
If only every grown-up man 

Beneath the skies of blue 
Were daddy to a little girl 

As nice and sweet as you." 



A Prayer 

I DO not ask a level road 
Always to tread, 
Nor do I ask a trifling load 
Of care and dread. 
I do not pray that I may be 

Spared all of rain 
Of darkness and anxiety 
And bitter pain. 

I do not pray for favors great, 

Nor would I shun 
The tasks or sorrows that await 

Tomorrow's sun. 
But I do pray for strength to bear 

From day to day 
Without complaint, my bit of care 

Along the way. 



138 



Living Monuments 

OUR children are our monuments, 
The little ones we leave behind, 
If they are good and brave and 
kind, 
And labor here with true intents, 
Our lives and work perpetuate 
Far more than marble tablets great. 

Far rather would I pass away 

And leave a sturdy son of mine, 
Whom I had taught to love the fine, 

The just and honest; in his day 

To serve the world with courage bold, 
Than have my life on granite told. 

I'd rather feel when death is near 
That in my children I shall live ; 
No monument of stone would give 

Me greater glory, year by year. 

Than sons and daughters treading on 
In truth and honor when I'm gone. 

Who leaves a sturdy son on earth, 

A noble daughter, sweet and pure. 
Has monuments that long endure. 

He needs no shaft to prove his worth; 
The luster of his children's deeds 
Are all the monuments he needs. 



139 



The Joy of Getting Back 

^^::^HERE ain't the joy in foreign skies that those 

^ J of home possess, 

An' friendliness o' foreign folks ain't home- 
town friendliness; 

An' far-off landscapes with their thrills don't grip me 
quite as hard 

As jes' that little patch o' green that's in my own back- 
yard. 

It's good to feel a stranger's hand grip heartily your 

own, 
It's good to see a stranger's smile when you are all 

alone ; 
But though a stranger's grip is warm, an' though his 

smile is sweet 
There's something in the home folks' way that has the 

stranger's beat. 

A railroad train that's outward bound bears many a 

man an' dame 
Who think a thousand miles away the sunsets brighter 

flame ; 
An' seekin' joys they think they lack they pack their 

grips an' roam, 
An' just as I, they some day find the sweetest joys at 

home. 

Away from home the girls are fair an' men are kind of 

heart, 
An' there you'll always find a few who sihg when you 

depart. 
But though you rode a million miles o'er gleaming 

railroad track 
You'd never find a joy to beat the joy of gettin' back. 



140 



Punishment 

^^:^HEIR childhood is so brief that we 
I) Should hesitate to spoil their fun, 
We should be very slow to see 

The things that they should not have done. 
For such a little while they play 

Before the rough, long roads they tread, 
We should be careful every day 

To send no weeping child to bed. 

So soon they'll women be and men, 

With all the cares that grown-ups know, 
We should be slow to punish, when 

Their little feet in mischief go. 
Our whippings should be very few. 

Yes, very few, and very mild, 
We should be careful what we do 

In dealing with a happy child. 

So few the years that are their own. 

So brief the time to romp and play. 
So very quickly are they grown 

To face the battles of the day 
That we should hesitate to mar 

With punishment, however slight, 
The days that oh, so precious are, 

And turn to grief a child's delight. 

Too soon will come the long days when 

They'll often heavy-hearted be, 
And they'll look back on childhood then 

And think of you and think of me. 
And we should have them then recall 

When we are sleeping in the grave 
Not how we punished children small. 

But how we kissed them and forgave. 



141 



Jes' Wonderin'! 

X WONDER if they're bitin' way off yonder in 
the bay! 
I wonder if they're fightin' very hard t' git 
away! 
I wonder if they're hungry, an' would grab a silver 

spoon 
Th' way that I remember they used t' do in June! 
I wonder if Ole Daddy's caught his big one yet this 

year; 
An' I guess the boss is wonderin' why I'm sittin' idle 
here. 

I wonder if the lily pads are just as thick t'day 

As what they were in by-gone times when I was on 

the bay! 
I wonder if my favorite spot right now is occupied 
By some one else, an' if it's come t' be a stranger's 

pride ; 
An' if he knows its secrets, too, an' holds 'em just as 

dear. 
An' if the boss is wonderin' why I'm sittin' wonderin' 

here. 

I wonder if the gulls fly 'round the way they used t' 

do, 
T' grab the minnows now an' then that in the bay I 

threw ! 
I wonder if I still could cast as true as what I did 
When I could land it every time where some big one 

was hid! 
An' O, I wonder if the day will ever come again 
When I shall hear a singing reel, the way I heard it 

then. 



142 



Tell Him Why 

^Y^HEN your boy wants to do what he 
\^ shouldn't— 

Some foolish or dangerous thing. 
Or something you wish that he wouldn't, 

A deed that disaster may bring, 
That he must not you hasten to tell him 

And threaten him should he defy, 
With a positive order you quell him, 

But do you explain to him why? 

When you want him to do what he should do, 

When you're eager to have him polite, 
When its something you know that he could do, 

Do you train him with reason or fright? 
You may say that he "must" or severely 

With him you will deal by and by; 
You see why it's proper most clearly, 

But do you explain to him why? 

A boy's mind is open to reason, 

A thinking device is his brain; 
Injustice he's ready to seize on. 

So why don't you stop to explain? 
It's perfectly proper to check him 

When you see that in danger he'd fly, 
But it certainly sure that you'll wreck him 

Unless you explain to him why. 



143 



Ma an' Me 

CHERE'VE been times we'd disagree 
Somethin' awful, Ma an' me; 
Times when I would bang the door 
Never to come back no more, 
An' go stompin' down the street 
Sayin' things I won't repeat; 
Vowin' that the only course 
For us two was a di-vorce. 
Then when it come time for tea 
We'd make up, would Ma an' me. 

We've had many a lively spat 

Arguin' over this an' that. 

There've been times when Ma got mad, 

Said enough o' me she'd had, 

Tired o' listenin' to me jaw; 

Reckoned that she'd go t' law. 

Tell the judge her tale o' woe. 

An' my own way I could go. 

Then the children we would see 

An' we'd laugh, would Ma an' me. 

Ma an' me ain't angels quite. 
Neither of us does things right. 
She's got reason fer complaint. 
She ain't married to a saint; 
Guess I've tried her patience more 
Than the children round the door; 
An' at times, by all that's fine. 
Ma has certainly tried mine. 
But together still are we. 
Pals an' lovers — Ma an' me. 

We've just plodded on the way 
Hand in hand from day to day, 
Workin' for the greatest good, 
Doin' just the best we could. 
Gettin' mad, as people will. 
But remainin' faithful still. 



144 



An' we've never gone to bed 
Till we took back all we said, 
Kissed, an' vowed we'd always be 
Pals an' sweethearts — Ma an' me. 



n 



Lines to the Wash Woman 

ADY, when you say you'll come 

Tuesday morn to do our washing, 
Tell us if there isn't some 
Way to know if you are joshing? 



When you promise to be here 

Toiling at our tubs and wringers, 

And we think you are sincere, 

Tell us, do you cross your fingers? 

When we show you round our place, 

And you vow you'll come and clean it, 

How, we ask you to your face. 

Can we know you really mean it? 

You with promises are glib. 

This we do not say to grieve you, 

But so many times you fib. 

Tell us when can we believe you? 

Lady, when we rise at six. 

Just to get the water boiling. 

We are in a sorry fix 

When you dodge your day of toiling. 

All your failures leave us glum, 

It's a shame to waste a day so. 

If you do not mean to come. 

Why on earth do you not say so? 



145 



Answering Age 

gG£ is calling to me, with his linger long and 
grim, 
It is urging me to wander down the dreary- 
lanes with him. 
It has lined my cheeks with furrows, and has tinged 

my hair with gray. 
And is ever whispering to me that I've grown too old 

to play; 
But the heart of me keeps saying, "Let us dance our 

way along. 
Let us answer age with laughter, let us drive him off 
with song." 

Age comes to me saying: *'You are mine forever more, 
It is vain for you to hunger for the joys you knew of 

yore. 
Now the feet of you are weary, and the eyes of you 

are dim. 
Come with me, my worn-out brother, come and share 

my dwelling grim." 
But the heart of me keeps saying: "I will cling to 

youth for you, 
I will keep you in the sunshine where the skies are 

always blue. 

"Give to age your cheeks for furrows, let him silver, if 

he will. 
The hair about your temples, but I'll keep you 

youthful still; 
Let him dull your eyes, if need be, weight your feet 

with bygone years. 
But I'll wake you with my singing, when the break 

of day appears, 
I will fill your days with laughter, and with roses 

strew your way. 
Say to age you do not fear him, while your heart is 

young and gay." 



146 



Contentment 

XTAKE it as I go along 
That life must have its gloom, 
That now and then the sound of song 
Must fade from every room; 
That every heart must know its woe, 

Each door death's sable sign, 
Care falls to every one, and so 
I strive to bear with mine. 

Misfortune is a part of life ; 

No one who journeys here 
Can dodge the bitterness of strife 

Or pass without a tear. 
Love paves the way for us to mourn, 

Our pleasures breed regret, 
One day a sparkling joy is born. 

The next — our eyes are wet. 

Each life is tinctured with the pain 

Of sorrow and of care, 
As now and then come clouds and rain. 

Come hours of despair. 
And yet the sunshine bursts anew, 

And those who weep shall smile, 
For joy is always breaking through 

In just a little while. 



147 




It Couldn't Be Done 

fOMEBODY said that it couldn't be done 
But he with a chuckle replied 
That * 'maybe it couldn't," but he would 
be one 
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. 
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin 

On his face. If he worried he hid it. 

He started to sing as he tackled the thing 

That couldn't be done, and he did it! 

Somebody scoffed: *'Oh, you'll never do that 

At least no one ever has done it;" 
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat 

And the first thing we knew he'd begun it. 
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, 

Without any doubting or quiddit, 
He started to sing as he tackled the thing 

That couldn't be done, and he did it. 

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, 

There are thousands to prophesy failure. 
There are thousands to point out to you one by one. 

The dangers that wait to assail you. 
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, 

Just take off your coat and go to it ; 
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing 

That "cannot be done," and you'll do it. 



148 



Money 

I'D hate to think so much of gold 
That I would sell myself to gain it, 
I'd hate the sound of metal cold 
If I must shamefully attain it. 
I'd hate to be so much a slave 

To minted silver, gold and copper, 
That I'd forget in moments grave 

To do the decent thing and proper. 

I'd 'ike to live a life of ease, 

And tread a pathway always sunny, 
But I'd not worship on my knees 

The golden idol known as Money. 
A man of wealth I'd like to be. 

But I would rather dig in ditches 
Than ever have it said of me, 

I'd sold my self-respect for riches. 



X 



A Greeting 

F every day of yours were fine 

And every sky of yours were blue, 
You couldn't know such joy of mine, 
The joy o' being friend to you. 



You've brushed away the clouds of care 
And often dried the bitter tears, 

And left a debt I couldn't square 

If I should live a thousand years. 

I'm wishing you'll as happy be 

As I am all this journey through, 

Who have this joy to comfort me. 
The joy o' being friend to you. 



149 



A Personal View of War 

X NEVER pondered much on war, 
Except to think it was inspiring 
To have a cause to battle for, 

To hear the guns and cannons firing; 
To see brave men rush up to death 

Without a sign or trace of terror, 
To give their country blood and breath, 

But now I know it's all an error; 
War is a frightful thing I know. 
What if my boy should have to go? 

Last night I leaned above his crib 

And spent a little while in playing, 
I tickled him beneath his bib. 

And watched his little body swaying 
With innocent delight, and then 

It seemed I heard the noise of battle, 
The wails and shrieks of dying men, 

The cannons' boom, the muskets' rattle, 
And shuddered as I stooped down low. 
What if my babe some day must go? 

War did not seem a splendid thing, 

There was no glory in the fighting, 
No thrill in hearing bullets sing. 

No joy in men each other smiting. 
I saw but heartache, and the grave, 

And misery and desolation. 
As splendid fellows, bold and brave, 

Were sacrificed unto the nation; 
I wept with men of long ago 
Whose boys marched out to face the foe. 

I used to think that war was grand 

That bugle calls were splendid, thrilling; 

But now I know and understand, 

They sound the message to start killing. 

And when I ponder now on war 
'Tis but to see the terror of it, 



150 



The glory that I saw before 

Has vanished in the error of it. 
War may have seemed a brilliant show, 
It's different when your own may go ! 



Troubles 

^^ROUBLES? Sure I've lots of them, 
^^ Got 'em heaped up by the score. 
Got 'em baled and bundled up, 

Got 'em hid behind the door. 
Got 'em young and got 'em old, 

Got 'em big and little, too. 
Don't care to discuss 'em now, 

Rather tell my joys to you. 

Got the finest home there is, 

Got the finest pair o' boys. 
An' the sweetest little girl, 

Reg'lar livin', breathin' joys. 
Got the finest wife in town, 

Got a little garden, too. 
Troubles? Sure I've got 'em, but 

Rather tell my joys to you. 

Got a bunch of friends I love, 

Friends I know are staunch and true; 
Visit 'em, they visit me, 

Jus' the way good friends should do; 
Got my health, an' got a job. 

That's enough to see me through. 
Troubles? Sure I've got 'em, but 

Rather tell my joys to you. 



151 



At the Wedding 

^^r^HERE was weepin' by the women that the 

^ J crowd could plainly see, 

^^^ An* old William's throat was chokin* an' his 

eyes were watery, 
An' he couldn't hardly answer when the parson made 

him say 
Who it was on that occasion was to give the girl away. 

I detest tears at a weddin', an' I didn't like 'em then, 
An' I couldn't see the reason for the lips that trembled 

when 
Reverend Goodly looked about him ere he tied the 

knot to stay 
An' said: "Which of you assembled here now gives 

this girl away?" 

I shall not forget old William an' the solemn look he 

wore, 
Though he tried his best at smilin* I could tell his 

heart was sore; 
I could see the tear drops startin' as he looked at 

little May, 
An' I knew the wrench it caused him when he gave 

his girl away. 

I could hear the women sobbin', an' I didn't dare to 

look, 
I jes' kep' my face straight forward till the parson 

closed his book. 
For the heart of me was beatin' not in sadness, but 

in glee; 
I had reason to be happy. He was givin' her to me. 



152 



The Time for Brotherhood 

^v^HEN a fellow's feeling blue, 

\gj And is troubled, through and through 

^*^^ With a melancholy feeling 

That he cannot seem to shake. 

When his plans have gone astray 

And his hopes have slipped away 

And he's standing at the crossroads 

Wondering which one to take. 

That's the time to grab his hand 

And to make him understand 

That he's grieving over trifles 

And his worries aren't worth while; 

That's the time to slap his back 

With a good old friendly whack. 

That's the time he needs your friendship 

And the time he wants your smile. 

When he's deep down in the dumps 
And has known life's rocky bumps, 
When he's got the kill-joy notion 
That his work no longer counts; 
That's the time a word of cheer 
Sweetly whispered in his ear 
Sets the heart of him to beating 
'Till his spirit proudly mounts. 
That's the time a glad * 'Hello!" 
Means far more than you may know, 
That's the time a sign of friendship 
Really does a brother good; 
That's the time a word of praise 
Lifts a fellow up for days. 
Sends him on his way, rejoicing, 
That's the time for brotherhood. 



153 



Answering the Grumblers 

^TT^HEN night time comes an' I can go 
r I y Back to the folks who love me so, 
^^^ An' see 'em smile an' hear 'em sing, 
An' feel their kisses, then, by jing! 
I vow this world is mighty fine 
An' run upon a great design. 

I trudge away at break o' day 

An' hear the grumblers round me say, 

This world ain't what it ought to be, 

With so much care an' misery. 

An' so much work for all to do. 

An' little comfort when you're through. 

But all the time I'm thinkin' of 
The faces of the ones I love, 
An' every minute I can see 
Their bright eyes laughing right at me, 
An' I can almost hear 'em say: 
"Come home, come home, an' we will play." 

An' sometimes when the daily grind 

Sends bitter thoughts into my mind. 

An' I get thinkin' that of care 

I draw far more than is my share, 

I hear 'em hum their merry song, 

An' then I know such thoughts are wrong. 

I never doubt this world is good, 
I couldn't doubt it if I would 
For all the trouble that I meet 
I gather compensation sweet 
When night time comes an' I can go 
Back to the folks who love me so. 

It ain't no use for grumblers here 
To tell me that this life's severe. 
To say this world's a vale of woe, 



154 



For I've got proof that it ain't so, 
When wearily I trudge away, 
They're whisperin', whisperin': "Soon we'll 
play." 



Now and Then 

Vr^HY not think a decent thought, 

\ I / l^ow and then? 

^^*^ Why not ponder, as you ought, 

Now and then? 
Get your mind out of the mire, 
To the higher things aspire, 
Claim a loftier desire, 

Now and then. 

Think of something else than gold. 

Now and then! 
Think of things not bought and sold, 

Now and then; 
Turn from sordid deeds and mean. 
In your acts your thoughts are seen. 
Think of something sweet and clean. 

Now and then. 

Think of good instead of bad, 

Now and then; 
Of the bright things, not the sad, 

Now and then; 
If you think the way you should. 
As you could think if you would. 
You would do a lot of good, 

Now and then. 



155 



Happiness 

XF the sunbeams will not start you to rejoicing, 
If the laughter of your babies you can hear 
Without little songs of gladness gayly voicing, 
If their dancing doesn't drive away your tear; 
If you don't find happiness where they are playing, 
If they do not make your pathways bright and 
sunny, 
Then gladness from your heart has gone a-straying 
And you won't be any happier with money. 

If the blue skies bending over you don't thrill you. 

If the roses just a-bursting into bloom 
With a sense of perfect pleasure do not fill you, 

If the song birds do not chase away your gloom ; 
If you cannot find contentment in your cottage 

Then your heart for joy has not become a chalice, 
If you cannot, smiling, eat your simple pottage. 

Then you'd not be any happier in a palace. 

If a troop of healthy, laughing boys and lassies 

Doesn't strike you as a reason to rejoice; 
If the glories of the earth, when winter passes, 

You behold and still retain a whining voice; 
If it doesn't rouse your spirits to go fishing, 

Then your heart is but a cupboard for despair, 
And for money all in vain today you're wishing. 

You'd make a most unhappy millionaire. 



156 



Real Help 

XF you can smooth his path a bit, 
Bring laughter to his worried face, 
Restore today his stock of grit 
And help him all his troubles chase. 
If you can speak one word of praise 
That shall his drooping spirits raise 
And warm his heart with cheer. 
You have done more than they will do 
Who'll sighing, rush some day to strew 
Red roses on his bier. 

If you stretch out a hand to him 

Today when he is plodding on, 
When everything seems dark and grim, 

And hope is very nearly gone, 
If you go to him where he stays 
And speak the little word of praise 

That now may banish fear, 
You will have done more good than they 
Who'll rush to praise his lifeless clay 

And strew with flowers his bier. 

If you will note the good you see 

In him today, while yet he lives, 
If you will be the friend you'll be 

When death to him the summons gives. 
While he is here to hear your praise. 
To profit by your kindly ways. 

You'll not seem insincere 
If, when death's smile is on his face, 
You rush to be the first to place 

Red roses on his bier. 



157 



Home 

^^yiGHT rooms and bath, a cellar, too, a little 

iTjl patch of mother earth, 

^*^^ Above it just a stretch of blue, it makes no 

difference what it's worth. 
It's home to me, and more and more I grow to love 

it every day. 
And when at night I pass the door, it's there I always 

want to stay. 

The furniture, perhaps, is not so fine as other folks 

possess. 
But it's a mighty cosy spot, and shelters in our 

happiness ; 
The pictures on the walls aren't much, our tapestries 

aren't extra fine. 
But everything I see or touch holds joy for me because 

it's mine. 

Within these unpretentious walls are love and laughter 

finely blent; 
Rich men may have their marble halls, they cannot 

shut out discontent. 
And were this house a mansion grand I could not any 

happier be, 
For here I have at my command all that the world 

can give to me. 



158 



A Creed 

O live in hearts, not monuments of stone, 
To live on humble lips that nightly pray ; 
To be remembered when the soul has flown 
As one who smiled and passed along the way. 



C 



To leave behind not buildings towering high, 
Nor stacks of gold I made, but couldn't spend, 

To be remembered when I've journeyed by 
As one who did his best to be a friend. 

To come to death without one wish to keep 
The precious earthly prizes I have won. 

But smiling, sink into eternal sleep 

Without regret — at peace with everyone. 



History Teaches 

GAESAR did a few things, 
Horace wrote in style. 
Good old Plato knew things 
Very much worth while. 
Famous Aristotle 

Had the master's touch; 
Blow this in your bottle: 
**I am not so much." 

Con your history's pages. 

Read the tales of Rome, 
Then compare the sages' 

To your feeble dome. 
All the dead ones study 

(If you call them such;) 
They will teach you. Buddy, 

You are not so much. 



159 



Capital Punishment 

QROUD is the state of its millions of men, 
And proud is the state of its name; 
In its borders are masters of brush and of pen, 
And wide as the world is its fame. 
It stands for the best of the blood of the years. 

Yet an eye for an eye is its way, 
And there at the base of its progress appears 
The chamber of murder today. 

It has fashioned the visions of ages long gone. 

What were dreams of the past now are real ; 
Its deserts and hills men have builded upon 

Great structures of stone and of steel. 
It is proud of its colleges, splendid and true. 

Where its youth obtain learning and skill; 
It has turned from the old to the glorious new, 

But the death house is part of it still. 

It boasts of its work in humanity's cause. 

Of its churches with steeples and domes ; 
And proudly it tells of its numberless laws 

That safeguard its millions of homes. 
It has stretched out its hand to the child of the mill, 

It has led him from labor to play; 
Yet the chamber of death is a part of it still, 

And some one must murder for pay. 

Choking rabbi and priest mutter fear-stifled prayers 

To the great God of mercy above 
As the ominous footfalls are heard on the stairs, 

And ask Him for mercy and love. 
Oh, mockery! Asking the Master to show 

Compassion, when ye of the state 
Stand up and insist on a blow for a blow. 

And murder in legalized hate! 



160 



Oh, mockery! Asking the good God to spare 

This man on the brink of the grave, 
That ye, as a state, by your actions declare 

Ye haven't found worthy to save. 
Ye have shaken the fetters of ages long gone, 

Ye have risen in glory and gain; 
How long must the God of us all look upon 

The chamber of death ye maintain? 



He Has Not Lived in Vain 

Y?^E has not lived in vain 
t w If men can say 

When he has passed away: 
"He labored not for gain." 

If one can truly say : 

*'I loved him for his smile, 
He walked with me a mile, 
And cheered my weary way." 

If only one shall stand 

And sadly murmur this: 
*'My friend, my friend, I'll miss 
The pressure of your hand." 

If only this remain: 

One heart that he has cheered; 

His monument is reared, 
He has not lived in vain. 



161 




A Pat on the Back 

PAT on the back is a wonderful thing, 
It gives a man courage to whistle and sing; 
When hope is departing, the outlook is grim, 
A pat on the back then says volumes to him. 
It whispers: "Keep at it! You're doing all right, 
Just dig in your toes and get busy and fight. 
There's one man behind you, go to it, old man. 
One pal who is sure that you can, that you can." 

A pat on the back from a stranger or friend 

When your jaw starts to sag and your knees start to 

bend 
Will bring you right up with new courage and grit 
And you'll keep in the fight when you were going to 

quit. 
You'll feel it, you'll hear it — yes, actually hear it — 
For hours saying "dig in, old fellow. Don't fear it, 
That isn't as hard as it looks. Be a man, 
There's a fellow back there who believes that you 

can. 

Just a pat on the back. And for days and for days, 
No matter how far you may roam, it still stays 
By your side, and no matter how hard be your fight 
It's whispering always: "You'll come out all right. 
There's a fellow back there who's believing in you, 
Expecting each minute to see you come through 
With your colors still flying and leading your clan!" 
And the first thing you know you are saying : "I can. ' ' 

Oh, a pat on the back is a wonderful thing. 
The touch of 'it's magic; I've known it to bring 
Back hopes that were fleeting, and strength that 

seemed gone 
And smiles that had vanished and urge a man on 
When it seemed that he couldn't one step advance 

more 
Till he conquered. And that's what I'm singing this 

for; 
If you see a poor brother whose nerve's out of whack. 
Just step up and give him a pat on the back. 



162 



King 

{Being an attempt to write it as Tom Daly might do) 

elUSEPPE TOMASSI ees stylisha chap, 
He wear da white collar an' cuff, 
He says: *'For expanse I no giva da rap. 
Da basta ees not good enough." 
When out weeth hees Rosa he wear da silk hat, 

An' carry da cane lik' da lord; 
He spenda hees money lik' dees, an' lik' dat. 
For Giuseppe, he work at da Ford. 

He smoke da seegar wit da beega da band, 

Da tree-for-da-quart' ees da kind, 
Da diamond dat flash from da back of hees hand 

Ees da beegest Giuseppe could find. 
He dress up hees Rosa in satin an' lace, 

She no longer scrub at da board. 
But putta da paint on da leeps an' da face. 

For Giuseppe, he work at da Ford. 

Giuseppe, ees strutta about lik' da keeng, 

An' laugh at da hard-worka man 
Who grinda da org' a few neekles to bring 

Or sella da ripa banan'. 
Each morning he waxa da blacka moustache 

Then walk up an' down through da ward; 
You batta he gotta da playnta da cash, 

For Giuseppe, he work at da Ford. 



163 




Lonely 

'OU'RE not feeling well today, 
Little Fellow, 
You're not very keen for play, 
Little Fellow; 
All you want to do is nap 
On your mother's comfy lap 
And you lack your vim and snap, 
Little Fellow. 

When you're well it's me you pick, 

Little Fellow, 
For the romp and roguish trick. 

Little Fellow; 
But when you are feeling weak 
And the color leaves your cheek, 
It's your mother that you seek, 

Little Fellow. 

Then you want your mother's breast, 

Little Fellow, 
That's the finest place to rest. 

Little Fellow; 
When the fever's burning you, 
You know, just as once I knew, 
Only mother's arms will do, 

Little Fellow. 

Now I'm sitting in my den, 

Little Fellow, 
Waiting till you come again, 

Little Fellow; 
And I hear the gentle croon 
Of a sweet and soothing tune, 
And I hope you'll get here soon. 

Little Fellow. 



164 




Dreading 

fOMETIMES when they are tucked in bed the 
gentle mother comes to me 
And talks about each curly head, and 
wonders what they're going to be. 

She tells about the fun they've had while I was toiling 
far away, 

Recalls the bright things that the lad and little girl 
have had to say. 

Each morning is a pleasure new, and gladness over- 
flows the cup, 

And then she says: ''What will we do, what will we 
do when they're grown up?" 

She looks about the room and sees the train of cars 

beneath the chair, 
The soldiers resting at their ease, the wooly dog, the 

Teddy bear, 
The china doll, the painted ball, the building blocks 

about the floor, 
And then she smiles to see them all and even wishes 

there were more; 
The whole day passes in review, she stoops and strokes 

the wooly pup. 
And says to me: ''What will we do, what will we do 

when they're grown up?" 

I share with her that self-same dread, a house devoid 

of children's toys, 
No little tots to put to bed, no romping little girls 

and boys; 
No little lips to kiss at night, no broken skates or 

sleds to mend, 
I fear to think that such delight the years will very 

quickly end. 
Old Age, I dare not look at you, when we alone shall 

sit and sup, 
I wonder, too, what will we do, what will we do when 

they're grown up? 



165 



w 



A Real Thriller 

[E were speakin' of excitement, an' the hair 
upUftin' thrills 
That sorter dot life's landscape, like the 

bill board ads. for pills. 
An' one feller spoke of bein' in a railroad wreck or 

two 
An' another one of skatin' on some ice that let him 

through. 
Then a meek-faced little brother in the smoker's 

corner said: 
"I'll admit you folks have suffered temporary fear 

'an dread. 
But, tell me, have you ever ridden sixteen miles at 

night 
In a livery stable cutter, when the snow was deep an' 

white 
An' discovered, when attracted by the lash's singin' 

cuts 
That the driver's full of whisky an' the road is full of 

ruts? 

"Don't talk to me of terror, 'less you've ridden in a 
sleigh 

Through a strange an' barren country, jus' before 
the break o' day 

When it's blacker than your derby, an' you're shiver- 
in' with cold 

An' the fear that in a minute down a chasm you'll be 
rolled. 

I would volplane in a biplane, though I'm not a 
Wilbur Wright, 

I would join the crazy Frenchman in his somersault- 
ing flight. 

I would even scoff at Villa or some other Greaser 
thug. 

An' not v/orry that my body soon would stop a leaden 
slug. 

But I'd pass up midnight riding, where a deep 
ravine abuts 



166 



When the driver's full of whisky an' the road is 
full of ruts. 

**I never for one minute doubt that there's a 

Providence, 
A wiser power above us, something more than mortal 

sense; 
A wisdom that is deeper than the wisdom man has 

shown, 
A mercy that is sweeter than we selfish mortals own. 
That there is a God in Heaven is as sure as sure 

can be, 
An' each day that I am living certain proof of it I see. 
If we'd have it manifested, there's no need to go to 

schools. 
Or to scholars or the sages — we may learn it from the 

fools. 
One must really be watched over by an eye that 

never shuts 
When the driver's full of whisky and the road is full 

of ruts." 



George Moir Black 



a 



FRIEND has passed 
Across the bay. 
So wide and vast, 
And put away 
The mortal form 

That held his breath; 
But through the storm 

That men call death. 
Erect and straight, 

Unstained by years, 
At Heaven's gate 
A man appears. 



167 



Glad 

V^HERE'S a battered old drum on the floor, 
C^J And a Teddy bear sleeps in my chair, 
^^ There's a doll carriage barring the door; 

Ah, it's weeks since she trundled it there! 
There are building blocks strewn in the hall, 

And a train of cars wrecked on the track, 
And I smile as I gaze at them all, 

Thank goodness, the children are back. 

There's a handkerchief tied to my cane, 

That's a flag that a soldier boy bears; 
Now the yard is a grim battle plain 

And the soldiers are marching in pairs. 
There are finger marks now on the wall 

That were left there by hands that were black, 
But I smile as I gaze at them all. 

Thank goodness, the children are back. 

There are cries of delight and despair 

Resounding once more through the place; 
There are pillow fights fierce on the stair, 

And down through the hall there's a race ; 
There's a bump of a terrible fall 

As the enemy's camp they attack, 
But I smile as I list to it all. 

Thank goodness, the children are back. 

For give me the clamor and noise 

And give me the pranks that they play. 
The disturbance of girls and of boys 

That comes at the end of the day. 
For I'm sick of monotony's pall 

That hovered for weeks o'er the shack, 
It is music to me when they call, 

Thank goodness, the children are back. 



168 



Different 

X DON'T believe in worry, and it's foolish to 
despair, 
And dreading what may happen never lightens 
any care; 
I believe in facing trouble, without fretting o'er the 

cost, 
But it's altogether different when your little one is lost. 

Oh, it's altogether different when you think she's gone 

astray, 
When she's toddled from the doorway, and you cannot 

tell which way; 
When you call and get no answer, and you call and call 

again 
You are game, but still you worry — for it's mighty 

different then. 

Then the sweat comes on your forehead, and your 

nerves begin to dance, 
And the only thing you think of is some dreadful 

circumstance. 
You never stop to reason, and you play no hero's part. 
For terror — trembling terror — is a lodger in your heart. 

You could face financial ruin without parting with 

your grin, 
You could smile to see another take the prize you 

hoped to win, 
But you never cease to worry till you find your child 

again 
In the cupboard where she's hiding — for it's mighty 

different then. 



169 



Contrary Sary 

<<^^:;^HERE'S no sense arguin' with 'em," says 
1^) Ebenezer Gates, 

^^^ **You can't convince the women that they 

ain't fit fer votes; 
There's Sary got the notion that she's as good as man, 
An' I can't show her diff'runt, an' no man Hvin' can. 
She's most onreasonubbel. 'Now, I suppose,' says 

she, 
*If I got drunk each evenin' ye'd think lots more o' 

me?' 

"She's so consarn contrary, she won't talk common 

sense. 
She flies right off the handle the minute I commence. 
*Of course, we ain't men's equals,' says Sary, *if we 

wuz 
We'd hang around some barroom the way Jim Pilzer 

does; 
We'd soak ourselves with liquor, an' guzzle down our 

pay 
An' show ourselves your equals in some sich manly 

way.' 

"Now what's the use of reason, when women talk like 
that? 

Ye might as well keep silent. With facts I knock her 
flat, 

But when I git her cornered, she smiles an' says t' me: 

*Hank Foss has been arrested. He beat his family ; 

The neighbors have his children, his wife is sick in 
bed, 

The ballot ain't fer wimmin, it's kep' fer Hank in- 
stead.' 

"It really is a caution how foolish she's become! 
*I wisht I knew enough,' says she, *t' be a village bum ; 
I wisht I had the brain power t' loaf around all day 
An' see my children barefoot, but I ain't built that 
way. 



170 



If I wuz some men's equal, then maybe I'd be wise 
Enough t' starve my children an' black my dear ones' 
eyes. 



I'll Never Be Rich 

X'LL never be rich. 
I'm too fond of the joy 
Of a certain small girl 
And a certain small boy; 
And the nights full of fun 
And the days full of play, 
And the romp and the run 
At the end of the day. 

I'll never be rich. 
I'm too eager to share 
In the joys that are near, 
Too unwilling to care 
For the thing we call gold. 
That I'll fill every day 
Full of strife for the stuff. 
And not rest by the way. 

I'll never be rich. 
There are too many charms 
That I now can possess 
When I stretch out my arms; 
There are too many joys 
That already I hold 
That I cannot give up 
Just to wallow in gold. 



171 



For the Living 

XF you like a brother here, 
Tell him so; 
If you hold his friendship dear, 
Let him know; 
All the roses that you spread 
On his bier when he is dead 
Are not worth one kind word said 
Years ago. 

You can help a brother now 

If you will 
Smooth the furrows from his brow ; 

You can kill 
The despair that's in his heart 
With a word, and ease the smart. 
So why stand you now apart 

Keeping still? 

You can help a brother when 

He is here; 
He would hold your praises then 

Very dear. 
But absurdly still you stay 
And withhold what you could say 
That would cheer him on his way 

For his bier. 

What, I wonder, if the dead 

Saw and heard 
What is done and what is said 

Afterward, 
Would they utter in reply? 
Would they smile and ask us why, 
When the time to help was nigh, 

No one stirred? 



172 



'Keep your roses for the living," 

They would say, 
'Waste no time in praises giving 

Us today; 
Strew some living brother's way so. 
If you like another, say so, 
For the thing that now you praise so 

Is but clay." 



The Lonely Fight 

XT'S easy to be right when the multitude is cheering, 
It is easy to have courage when you're fighting 
with the throng ; 
But it's altogether different when the multitude is 
sneering 
To fight for what you know is right with no one 
else along. 

It's easy to be honest when the multitude is gazing, 
It is easy to be truthful when the crowds are 
standing by; 
But it's altogether different when there is no spotlight 
blazing 
To stand alone for what is right and never cheat 
or lie. 



173 




Answering the Usual Questions 

[Y name is Johnny Vincent Brown, 
I live on Leicester Court, 
My Pa's not here, he's gone downtown, 
An' I am three feet short. 
An' I weigh sixty -three pounds, too, 

An' I know my A, B, C's, 
An' I say good-bye an' howdy-do, 
An' yessum, yessir, please. 

An' I'm a good boy all the time, 

I do jes' what I'm told, 
I like ter run an' jump an' climb, 

I'm only four years old. 
I don't like hair that hangs in curls. 

An' I am fond of cake. 
But I ain't got no use for girls 

An' I hate stummick ache. 

I like the baby that we've got, 

I go ter Sunday School, 
I say my prayers beside my cot, 

I know the Golden Rule. 
I'll be a man when I grow up, 

I've got a dandy sleigh. 
An' if that's all you want ter know 

I'll skip along an' play. 



174 



X 



If Those Who Love Us 

F those who love us find us true 
And kind and gentle, and are glad 

When each grim working day is through 
To have us near them, why be sad? 



If those who know us best rejoice 

In what we are and hold us dear, 

What matter if the stranger's voice 

Shall speak the bitter jibe and jeer? 

If those who cling to us still smile 

Though grim misfortune has us down, 

If they still think our work worth while. 
What matters it if strangers frown? 



The Simple Toilers 

^— I'UST to do the little things 
ff L And do them well from day to day. 
Enough of satisfaction brings 

To those who tread the simple way; 
To make the striving here worth while 

They do not ask for glories great, 
They're happy with the rank and file 

And are content to work and wait. 

They seek their homes at close of day 

And there find happiness and rest, 
They watch their little children play, 

And out of life they draw the best. 
All unafraid they view the sun 

Sink out of sight and night descend, 
They miss the cares when day is done, 

The sleepless hours that fame attend. 



175 




Friendship 

'OU can buy, if you've got money, all you need 
to drink and eat, 
You can pay for bread and honey, and can 
keep your palate sweet. 
But when trouble comes to fret you, and when sorrow 

comes your way, 
For the gentle hand of friendship that you need you 
cannot pay. 

You can buy with gold and silver things you've got to 

have to wear. 
You can purchase all that's needful, when your skies 

are bright and fair; 
But when clouds begin to gather and when trouble 

rules the day 
Your money doesn't lure a friend worth while to come 

your way. 

For the hand that's warm and gripping and the heart's 
that tender, too. 

Are what all men living sigh for when they're sorrowful 
and blue. 

For there's nothing that's so soothing and so comfort- 
ing right then 

As the gladly given friendship of a fellow's fellow men. 

A hand upon your shoulder and a whispered word of 

cheer 
Are the things that keep you going when your trouble 

time is here; 
And you'll hate the gold you've gathered and the 

buildings that you own 
If you have to bear your troubles and your sorrows all 

alone. 

If you've served a golden idol you will get as your 

reward 
All the luxuries of living that the coins of gold afford. 



176 



But you'll be the poorest mortal and the saddest in the 

end 
When the clouds of trouble gather — and you're hungry 

for a friend. 



The Cure 

^Y^HEN you can't get her out of your head, young 
ril man, 

^^ And you hate what you have to do ; 
And you shirk every task that you find you can, 

And the others you hurry through. 
When all you can see is the time to quit, 

(I know how each symptom goes), 
There's only one way to get over it. 

The next time you see her — propose. 

When you think when you're called to the telephone 

That hers is the voice you'll hear, 
And because it isn't, you sigh and groan; 

When you find that your brain's not clear 
And you can't add figures or write a bit 

When the columns are all awhirl, 
There's only one way to get over it, 

And that is to marry the girl. 



177 




The Baby's Feet 

JNKER than the roses that enrich a summer's 
day, 
Splashing in the bath tub or just kicking 
them in play, 
Nothing in the skies above or earth below as sweet. 
As fascinating to me as a baby's little feet. 

Every toe a rosebud, on a chubby, dimpled tree. 
Little legs as rounded and as plump as they can be, 
Peeping through the nighties, or kicking in the air, 
Angel wings aren't prettier than baby's feet, I swear. 

Not a sign of travel, not a sign of care. 

Not a sign of burdens they have had to bear, 

Just the pinkest pinkness and the plumpest plumpness 

known. 
Kicking in their gladness when the covers back are 

thrown. 

Little feet that never yet have stepped aside to sin, 
Never trampled others down in selfishness to win, 
Never felt the bruises or the weariness of strife, 
Aren't they good to look at as they're starting out in 
Hfe? 

Little feet, I wonder, as I watch you kick in play. 
Peeping through your nightie at the ending of the day. 
Wonder where you'll wander in the years that lie 

ahead. 
And I pray the Lord to guard you o'er the paths that 

you must tread. 



178 




A Lullaby 

^HE dream ship is ready, the sea is like gold 
And the fairy prince waits in command ; 
There's a cargo of wonderful dreams in the 
hold, 
For the baby that seeks Slumberland. 
There are fairies in pink and good fairies in white, 

A watch o'er the baby to keep. 
Now the silver sails fill with the breeze of the night. 
All aboard, for the Harbor of Sleep ! 

I pray that no tempest shall ruffle the sea 

Through the long night that he is away; 
And I pray the good captain will bring him to me 

With a smile at the close of the day. 
Oh, soft as his breath be the breezes that blow, 

And gentle the long waves that sweep 
The wonderful ship that is waiting to go 

With my babe to the Harbor of Sleep. 

Softly, so softly, the ship slips away 

With its silver sails catching the breeze, 
The stars in the sky seem to twinkle and say 

Our watch we will keep o'er the seas. 
And never a tempest shall happen this night. 

But peace shall slip down on the deep. 
Safe and sound shall return, with the coming of light. 

Your babe from the Harbor of Sleep. 



179 



ts 



The Brave Men 

'ERE'S to the men who laugh 
In the face of grim despair, 
Who gather the tares and chaff 
But sow with a cheerful air. 
Here's to the smiling men 

Who, giving, can take a blow, 
And rise to the fight again 

When others have laid them low. 

Here's to the men who grin 

When plans that they build go wrong, 
And straightway new plans begin 

With courage and purpose strong. 
Here's to the glad, brave men 

Who, battling, expect a bruise, 
And rise to the fight again 

Undaunted by fights they lose. 

Here's to the men who smile. 

With faith in the morning light, 
And bravely await the while 

Till victory crowns their fight. 
Here's to the fighting men 

That always need not succeed. 
To rise to the fight again — 

The brave in defeat we need. 



ISO 



Little Fellow 

OH, you laughing little fellow, with your eyes 
agleam with fun. 
And your golden curls a-mockin' all the 
splendor of the sun. 
With your cheeks a wee bit redder than the petals 

of the rose, 
You don't know just what you mean to your daddy, 
I suppose. 

With your rompin' and your shoutin' an' your laughin' 

through the day, 
You've no care of what's before you, what lies yonder 

down the way; 
Why, your little brain is whirlin' with the gladness 

of the earth. 
An' of course you have no notion of how much to me 

you're worth. 

Jes' keep laughin', little fellow, keep those eyes agleam 

with fun, 
Jes' keep rompin' in the meadows an' a-dancin' in 

the sun, 
For the bloom of health upon you is the thing I want 

to see, 
Coz, you bright-eyed little fellow, you are all the 

world to me. 



181 



The Lilacs 

XT'S hard to find fault with the world 
With the lilacs in bloom at the door, 
Then the banners of Grouchdom are furled 
And life is worth living once more, 
The loved ones gone yonder come back 

To breathe once again their perfume, 
And joy has a clear, open track 

With the old-fashioned lilacs in bloom. 

We all are together again, 

The mother that loved them is here; 
The grandfather taps with his cane 

The walks that he once held so dear. 
The family circle is whole 

And sunshine has banished the gloom. 
And memories sweet flood the soul. 

With the old-fashioned lilacs in bloom. 

Home is nearer to Heaven it seems. 

And the stream that divides not so vast; 
For we live once again in our dreams 

The scenes of our sanctified past. 
And back to us come in a troop 

The loved ones, asleep in the tomb, 
To sit for a while on the stoop 

With the old-fashioned lilacs in bloom. 



182 




Success 

fUCCESS is not in getting rich, f 

'Tis not in winning fame; 
Tis not in climbing from the ditch 
To gain the world's acclaim. 
'Tis not in leading armies strong, 

For he's successful, too, 
Who brings his best the whole day long 
To what he has to do. 

The humble toiler in the field 

Who tends his acres small 
And watches them that they may yield 

Their utmost in the fall 
Has just as much of right to boast 

As he whom thousands cheer, 
For he has also made the most 

Of what God gave him here. 

The man who does his duty well. 

Although his task be small, 
And in a cottage poor he dwell 

Successful we should call. 
If he has given his task the best 

He had, nor ever swerved 
From what is right, he's met the test. 

Success is having served. 



183 



©' 



Pa Discusses Economj^ 

'i^^s^HIS year," said Pa, on New Year's night, 
"we'll start upon a different plan, 
I'm sick and tired of ending years as poor 
as when those years began; 
I'm sick and tired of spending coin before I've really 

got it earned, 
This year we're going to save some dough — that is the 
new leaf that I've turned." 

Ma didn't say a word right then, an' Pa went on: 

''This year we'll try 
To cut out all our foolishness, an' put a little money 

by; 
It's terrible the way we've spent the money that I 

labor for 
On things that we don't really need, but we won't do 

it any more. 

'There's lots of ways that we can save, we'll stop the 

many little leaks 
And soon we'll have a bank account — I've thought it 

out for weeks and weeks; 
I'm sick and tired of toiling hard, an' havin' nothing 

left to show 
For all I've done the long year through — this year 

we'll start to save our dough." 

An' Ma looked up an' said to Pa, "I'm glad to hear 

you make that vow, 
We ought to save a lot each year; an' listen while I 

tell you how: 
Those poker games you ought to stop, I've always 

said that they're not right. 
Ten dollars that we could have saved you lost at 

Brown's the other night. 

*'An' then you cut out shaking dice with friends who 
ride in motor cars. 
We'd save a lot of coin if you'd quit getting stuck for 
their cigars; 

184 



There are a lot of ways to save our money I can 

plainly see." 
Then Pa got mad an' said, "That's right, I knew" 

you'd blame it all on me." 



After All Is Said and Done 

gFTER all is said and done, 
After all the work and fun, 
After all the sighing's over 
And the laughter fades away, 
Then the cares that now beset us 
And the little wrongs that fret us 
Will diminish in their value 
As we sail across the bay. 

There will be no friends departed, 
There will be no heavy-hearted, 
There will be no looking backward 
To the joys of long ago; 
There will be no sad words spoken 
In a voice that's low and broken 
Of the loved ones that are missing 
And the joys we used to know. 

After all is said and done, 
After all the work and fun, 
We shall be once more united. 
With our sorrows swept away; 
Each new day will bring its pleasure 
In a splendid heaping measure. 
And no one of us shall sigh for 
Any by-gone yesterday. 



185 




The Home-Wrecker 

[ISCHIEVOUS and full of fun, 
Eyes that sparkle like the sun; 
Mouth that's always in a smile, 

Hands in trouble all the while. 

Tugging this and tugging that, 

Nothing that you don't get at. 

Nothing that you do not do. 

Roguish little tyke of two. 

Prying round the house you go. 
Everything you want to know. 
Everything you want to see, 
Bunch of curiosity. 
Nothing's safe with you about. 
Nothing you don't ferret out. 
*No! No's!" do not hinder you. 
Roguish little tyke of two. 

All day long you tear and break. 

Ruin follows in your wake, 

Just as though the tables are 

Made for little feet to mar; 

Just as though I spend my cash 

For pottery for you to smash; 

You're destructive through and through, 

Roguish little tyke of two. 

Hands and feet are never still. 
Ink you think is made to spill ; 
On from this to that you pass 
To the sound of falling glass. 
Cups, you think, were made to throw 
On the hardwood floor below. 
Gleefully their wreck you view, 
Roguish little tyke of two. 

But I'd rather have it so, 
Than the home I used to know; 
Rather have you crash and break, 
Leaving ruin in your wake; 



186 



Rather have you tug and tear 
Till the place is worn and bare, 
Than the childless home I knew, 
Roguish little tyke of two. 



A Father's Thought 

^^c^HEY say the little fellow looks like me, 

I) But I'm hoping he'll be better 
than I've been, 

And I'm hoping and I'm planning that he'll see 
A little more of sunshine than I've seen. 
Oh, I sit and watch him there. 
Smiling at me from his chair, 

And I'm dreaming of the days that are to be; 
And I'm hoping he'll attain 
All the goals I couldn't gain 

In the years when he is treading after me. 

He's exactly like his father, so I'm told. 

But I'm hoping he will be a better man; 
On what I may gain of glory or of gold 

I have ceased to give my effort or to plan. 

Through the boy who looks like me 

I've another chance to be 
A credit to myself, and so I say 

If I can but see him gain 

What I never could attain. 
At the end, without regrets, I'll pass away. 



187 



If You and I 

XF you would smile a little more 
And I would kinder be, 
If you would stop to think before 
You speak of faults you see. 
If I would show more patience, too, 
With all with whom I'm hurled, 
Then I would help and so would you 
To make a better world. 

If you would cheer your neighbor more 

And I'd encourage mine. 
If you would linger at his door 

To say his work is fine. 
And I would stop to help him when 

His lips in frowns are curled. 
Both you and I'd be helping then 

To make a better world. 

But just as long as you keep still 

And plod your selfish way. 
And I rush on, and heedless kill 

The kind words I could say; 
While you and I refuse to smile 

And keep our gay flags furled, 
Someone will grumble all the while 

That it's a gloomy world. 



188 



The Birth of Love 

X REMEMBER the first tiny cry that she gave 
And my heart felt a thrill that it never had 
known, 
And my face which a moment before had been grave 
With the sunlight of love and of happiness shone ; 
And yet I am sure that I loved her before 

She uttered the cry that delighted me so, 
And I vow that the baby that romps on the floor 
Was a part of my life in the long, long ago. 

I remember the first gentle kiss I bestowed 

On her little pink cheek, and recall that just then 
That it seemed that my heart with its love overflowed, 

A love I had known and was winning again; 
That babe I am sure was no stranger to me, 

For with her came love that no stranger could 
bring, 
A love that's as deep as the depths of the sea, 

As fresh and as pure as a cold mountain spring. 

There she is on the floor with her cheeks all aglow, 

With her eyes just as bright as the stars in the sky, 
Has she, do you think, in my heart had to grow 

To win me to love her? No, no, I reply! 
I loved her the very first moment she came, 

And looking back now I am certain also 
That my heart with the love of her had been aflame 

In the wonderful days of the long, long ago. 



ISd 



Copy Paper 

X START the day with paper white, 
And put it in my old machine, 
And wonder whether, as I write 
The night will find my copy clean. 
Will this day's finished task be fair 
Or full of blemishes and flaws? 
Will what my hands have written there 
Deserve derision or applause? 

Have I put down a single thing 

That better would have been unwrit? 
Have I let pass a jibe or fling 

With venom at the point of it? 
This paper spotless came to me, 

How will it leave my little den? 
What will the printer's judgment be? 

And what will say my fellow men? 

'Tis mine to do with as I will. 

I view the finished work, and pause; 
Here is a thought that I must kill, 

And here a verse that's full of flaws. 
And here's a line that I'd regret 

If ever I should let it go. 
The paper now is blurred, and yet 

I much prefer to have it so. 

Tomorrow it will be too late. 

Whatever is must stand for aye; 
If I have penned a line in hate 

That stays the record for today. 
And whether it be good or bad 

I cannot change one single line; 
My chance to be of worth I've had. 

And every blemish there is mine. 



190 



My life is like the paper sheet 

On which I toil from day to day, 
And there the bitter and the sweet 

Are written down to last for aye. 
And, oh, I hope, when comes the call 

That takes me from this earthly scene, 
The God above who judges all 

Will find my copy fairly clean. 



At the Millennium 

^y^HENEVER men and women learn 
\ll To be themselves from day to day. 
To spend no more than what they earn, 

Not caring what their neighbors say; 
When men can see another wear 

A finer raiment than they own 
And neither give a sigh nor care; -' 

When they can live their lives alone, 
And when they cease to rush in debt 

To keep a little swifter pace, 
There will be less of vain regret 

And earth will be a happier place. 



191 



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